Lyrics and Epiphanies
by TVDFictionalReality
Summary: He was a hotshot, wealthy and successful New York attorney. She was a music loving, free-spirited, waitress from the South. Their worlds never should have collided, but when a career changing business deal brings Damon into Elena's world, he's forced to re-evaluate everything – including how to pick up the pieces and ever again live his life without her. AU/AH
1. New York

**Hello again dear readers! I can't believe it's already been almost a full year since I've last posted anything - and for that, I'm terribly sorry. This story is something that I've had on my mind for several months now, but could just never bring myself to start... That is, of course, until Nina announced her departure from the show. Then, all of a sudden, I seemed to have found that new, emotional, gut-wrenching inspiration that I was looking for.**

 **This is my first all-human TVD story, and I must admit, I'm slightly nervous about it. So if this first chapter piques your interest, please, please let me know because I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

 **Just a warning, this is going to be a long, slow, painful journey. I apologize in advance.**

* * *

 **New York  
** _I don't believe the things I say_  
 _About us when I'm drunk_  
 _And distance leaves a bitter taste_  
 _When you're gone, when you're gone_  
\- The Boxer Rebellion

* * *

It started with a song and ended with a stack of boxes.

God, so many fucking boxes. How had we accumulated so much stuff? Still though, I can't bring myself to open them. My brother, Stefan, and his new wife, Caroline, said they'd help, but I declined. I know this is something I have to do alone.

The sound of the city below is therapeutic. I've missed it. Perhaps even more so than I'd originally anticipated. I run a hand through my dark hair, messing it up, if possible, even more than it was when I woke up a few hours ago, and take a deep breath.

The sun is about to set over Central Park. I've slept nearly the entire day. I suppose it's because I'm no longer being awoken to the crackling sound of vinyl, off-key humming, or the ocean tide. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Stefan thinks I'm spiraling or that I'm depressed. I'm not. Sleeping all day is just a side effect to my sudden lifestyle change; a change he, more than anyone, adamantly insisted I make.

But change is good.

I keep repeating this phrase over and over again in my mind, hoping that it'll eventually stick, that I'll eventually believe it. For my own sanity, I need to believe it.

Charleston is officially far away, and I tell myself, that is a good thing. _She_ is far away and that is…

Well, I'm not exactly sure what that is yet. I'll get back to you.

A strong knock on the door, followed by persistent buzzing, pulls my gaze away from overlooking the bright, Manhattan skyline. I take a step back from the glass railing and make my way across the large wooden deck, through the sliding glass doors and into the large living room of my new four bedroom penthouse - a welcome home present courtesy of my narcissistic father - and hold my breath as I try to muster up the energy to deal with company.

I look through the door scope. My best friend of five years stands in the hallway, shifting on his feet anxiously and holding a large brand new bottle of bourbon. For a moment, I briefly wonder how he got passed Tom, my downstairs doorman who was _gravely_ warned to never, under any circumstances, let anyone up. But at the sight of the alcohol in Ric's hand, I quickly forgive him and let it slide. I am in desperate need of a drink and bourbon is the one thing I've, ironically, not yet had the time to buy.

"I thought you could use this," he grins when I open the door. He holds up the bottle and invites himself inside.

"You have no idea," I sigh, reaching for it before closing the door and following behind him.

"Your doorman is a dick," he says casually over his shoulder as he passes through the oversize kitchen.

"Yeah. He can add that to his resume when I fire him. How the hell'd you get up here anyway?"

Ric chuckles, "It wasn't that hard actually. I just said you were having another quarter-life crisis and that if I didn't get this bottle of bourbon to you STAT, you were going to jump. _Apparently_ , he's in cahoots with your mother to keep a watchful eye on you."

I gawk at him in sheer aggravation at the mention of my mother. "He's definitely fired." I let out a long sigh of irritation. "Jesus, is there anyone who isn't watching my every move, waiting for me to break? I'm fine!" I stress, probably more for myself than for Ric. "Besides, _Lily Salvatore_ ," her name feels like venom on my tongue, "is the last person who should be critiquing anyone's lifestyle choices at the moment."

"I know, I know," laughs Ric defensively as he holds his hands up in defeat. "I am purely the messenger and deliverer of alcohol." He bows his head mockingly.

I roll my eyes before turning my attention to a box on the granite countertop marked 'glasses,' and begin tearing into it. Ric slowly shifts on his feet as he begins to look around and explore the new house. "Nice," he whispers. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he suddenly stops dead in his tracks upon reaching the living room entryway. I hear him whistles at the sight of all the boxes. "Wow. I see the unpacking is going well."

I ignore him as I finally find what I'm looking for, and pull and unwrap two drinking glasses from the box before fixing us each a drink. "Splendid," I answer, my tone full of sarcasm and annoyance as I hand him his glass.

Ric takes the drink appreciatively as he studies the room. I know where his eyes land without having to ask. There's only one item that's been unpacked. The Linn Sondek LP12 record player, one of the best money can buy, and one of the first gifts I'd ever purchased for her – the only other _her_ who's name I currently resent even more than my mother's - rests atop my currently empty, black bookcase. It looks lonely without her small fortune of vinyl albums filling up the shelves.

"So, how are you doing? Being back and all?" He asks, sipping from his drink and pretending he hadn't noticed it.

I shrug and head back outside towards the rooftop balcony. I rest my elbows on the railing and continue overlooking the damp streets of the Upper East Side. I wonder for a moment if New York's always looked this dreary and unwelcoming, or if it's just my mood.

"Well if it's any consolation," smiles Ric as he joins me, "I for one am stoked to have you back. Just wait 'til you see the office. So much has changed. After we beat out Mikaelson & Marshall, Giuseppe decided to start floor-by-floor renovations. New state-of-the-art conference rooms, computers, furniture, minibars, even these crazy Italian marble sculptures of nude women, which I for one, admire greatly," he chuckles, "the works. Oh and do you remember that girl Josette? The Litigation Associate from Virginia? Well I'm not even sure how it's possible, but damn, she _definitely_ got hotter. I swear, I shoulda taken your advice and asked her out a year ago. I think she's engaged now though. Not that I should let that stop me, right?" he chuckles. "Damon?"

My mind begins to wander. It does that a lot lately.

" _Marry you?" she giggles as she examines the question I've drawn in the sand. "But there's no music."_

" _Are you serious?" I chuckle as I watch her. She continues to kick and splash the water with her bare feet as she walks along the shore; her yellow dress reflecting in the moonlight as it becomes soaked by the Atlantic tide. Not that she cares._

" _Of course I'm serious," she smiles back at me over her shoulder. I stand in awe, hands in my pocket nonchalantly, just watching her spin playfully in a dancelike motion. "It's all about the song. You know that."_

 _And I do. I know better. It doesn't matter that my question is spontaneous and unplanned. It doesn't matter that I haven't gotten down on one knee or that I haven't delivered some long, romantically played-out speech. It doesn't even matter that I'm so unprepared I don't even have a ring ready. No, the ring doesn't matter to her. It's all about the song and the moment, and I know, I'll never get a yes without it._

" _Well what song would you like?"_

 _She stops and turns back to face me grinning, her eyes shining with mischief. In a few quick seconds, she is running towards me and jumping into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist and her arms around my neck. She throws her head back in soft giggles as I hold her tightly and take a step back in an attempt to keep my balance from the unexpected surprise. When she finally stops laughing, I kiss her. God, I just want to kiss her for the rest of my life. Why does she have to make things so difficult?_

 _When I finally pull away, I feel her whisper against my lips, "Surprise me."_

"Damon?" Ric repeats, pulling me away from her and all the rest of the memories at Folly Beach.

"Sorry. Engaged. Yeah. That's great," I nod, taking a sip from my glass.

" _Great_?" Ric laughs. "No, this is the part where you're supposed to give me shit for not listening to you. I practically just hand delivered you an 'I-told-you-so' moment."

I feel him watching me curiously, but I just sip from my drink, unable to fall back into our usual shit-giving banter. It doesn't help that, for the life of me, I can not remember who the hell _Josette_ is. Salvatore and Associates houses hundreds and hundreds of employees in offices all over the world. Faces become blurs and names become just words on a page. Not to mention, I've been out of the office politics game for well over a year now.

"What's going on with you?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair again. I have no idea what's going on with me.

Wait. Scratch that. As the image of her doe-eyes and bright smile continue to flash through my mind, I do know what's going on with me and can instantly feel my demeanor growing tense.

"Listen, Damon," he begins, silently understanding where my thoughts lie.

Two-steps ahead and in no mood to be lectured, I quickly turn away from him and begin to make my way back inside. "I know that being back here is… an adjustment," he continues, following behind me, determined to pinpoint my bitter mood. "And I know that Stefan making partner instead of you wasn't exactly part of the plan,"

I huff in annoyance. Stefan receiving the promotion I had so rightfully deserved over a year ago had actually been the farthest thing from my mind. In fact, I hadn't even thought about it until this moment. God, tomorrow really was going to suck.

"But we've all missed you and, I don't know, I think if you'll just give it a chance, you'll find that you can be happy here again. I mean, when you're not being a dick, you _are_ one of the best defense attorneys in the city." He pauses. "Hell, even when you are being a dick."

I can't help but smile, arrogantly knowing that he's right and it's killing him to admit it. But my pride quickly fades when he says, "I know your Father's thrilled to have you back."

I snort and roll my eyes. "I bet he is." I quickly finish off the rest of my drink before making my way back into the kitchen to begin preparing another one. I can't even imagine the amount of damage control Giuseppe's had to conduct on behalf of both his eldest son's disappearance, and his wife's recent stint in rehab. The thought makes me smile a bit.

"What happened with Elena was just a," he hesitates, "momentary lapse of judgment. It happens. You'll bounce back from this. Trust me, her leaving will eventually be the best thing that's ever happened to you."

His bluntness and the sound of her name quickly sets my nerves on fire. I slam down my drink on the granite countertop, possibly a little more forceful than intended, and turn back to look at him.

"Can we just _not_ go there right now? I'm really not in the mood to rehash."

He throws his hands up defensively at the sudden sound of anger in my tone. "Fine. Then how about we talk about Katherine."

" _Katherine_?" I ask, confused and slightly annoyed that he's choosing this moment to bring up another one of my exes.

"Katherine," he repeats, grinning in amusement. "You remember her, right? I mean, how could you not? She's _obviously_ your type."

I shoot back the full glass of my bourbon, growing angry at his unspoken comparison of her to Elena. Katherine is nothing like Elena. I had once, for a split second, noticed the similarities in their height, hair color and eyes, but other than that, they were most certainly on opposite ends of the spectrum. Elena, free-spirited, carefree and untethered; Katherine, intense, career-driven and attached to the right-hand side of my father.

"Well, she's been asking about you around the firm," Ric continues. "I told her you were back. I think she's missed you."

"The only thing that woman's missed is my last name."

"I don't think so," he says in seriousness, moving to stand beside me at the kitchen bar to refill his glass. "I mean, not to deflate your ego, but now that she's made Partner, I don't really think she needs you."

"Wow. She certainly has Giuseppe wrapped around her pretty little finger then, doesn't she?" I smirk, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Well, that and she _did_ win the Robinson case."

"Yeah," I sneer, silently remember the morning I read the headline in the paper: _"Jury grants $8.4 million in favor of Robinson. Pearce a force to be reckoned with."_ I also remember Elena quickly grabbing it out of my hand as she entered the kitchen and took a seat on the barstool next to me. I can still hear her sighs of disgust as she scanned the article over her blueberry bagel.

"Look," Ric grins, trying to ease the tension between us, "all I'm saying is that, getting back out there might not be the worst thing that's happened to you this year. If nothing else, it could lead to a nice, casual, no-stings-attached," he clears his throat mockingly, "fling." He chuckles, waiting for me to join in. "The Damon I knew used to like those, remember?"

"Well the Damon you knew used to also do body shots off the receptionist in my office, remember?"

Ric nearly chokes on his drink as he attempts to suppress a laugh. "I'd almost forgotten about that. Yeah, what the hell happened to that guy? I really liked that guy!" I ignore him, silently hating that version of myself.

"I haven't been that person in a long time."

"Oh, come on! What's the point in having a hot ex if you can't still hook up with her from time-to-time?"

My mind wanders again.

" _Ex's are the best thing to ever happen to us," she smiles as we drive down the historic French Quarter with the top down in my blue 1969 Chevy Camaro. The soothing sounds of Allie Moss, her artist of the day, plays calmly through my stereo as she begins to hum. She extends her right arm out the window, waving her hand in the breeze, and tilts her head upward to soak in the warmth of the summer day._

" _I beg to differ," I argue, looking over at her through my shades, resting one arm casually on the steering wheel and the other across the back of her headrest._

" _No, I'm serious. How else are we ever supposed to get to where we're meant to be without them? How else are we supposed to know what we want?"_

" _Well where exactly are we supposed to be?" I smirk arrogantly as I stop at a crosswalk to allow pedestrians to pass. I silently wonder if her use of 'us' and 'we' is literal or general._

 _She rotates her head to look at me and pauses for a brief moment before slowly crawling across the middle console. Her hand finds my thigh and she leans in._

 _Slowly and seductively, her lips draw closer to mine. "Do you hear that?" she smiles. Her eyes find mine for a brief second before she looks down at my lips._

 _I hear the sound of a car horn behind us, urging us to move forward, but she seems unfazed._

" _Forces are at work greater than you know," she quotes the song that's playing before her lips finally find mine. My hands tangle themselves into her hair, desperate to pull her closer. I no longer care that we are in the middle of a town square, surrounded by dozens of onlookers or that we are seriously annoying the shit out of the car stuck behind us. All I care about is her, and this moment, and all of her strangely beautiful, lyrics and epiphanies._

"You're doing it again," groans Ric as he heads back towards the living room, annoyed by my inability to focus on our conversation.

"I'm sorry," I say. And I am. I have to get it together.

Ric sighs and leans against the doorframe. His gaze wanders back to the boxes. "What are you going to do with them?"

I shrug, knowing the 'them' he is referring to.

"I can help you donate them if you want? Hell, I'll just hire someone to get rid of them. You don't even have to open anything."

My eyes land on a box labeled "2012 Singer-Songwriters" and another labeled "2013 Acoustics." Every album has been assorted by year and genre, causing the need for dozens of boxes. Then finally, I see the small stack labeled "Elena's things."

The sight makes me angry. How dare she leave behind even a shred of evidence that she'd ever existed, let alone enough to fill up over half of my living room? My mind replays the note; the note I'd read so many times I could now officially recite it word-for-word from memory.

' _Damon,_

 _-"The smartest thing I've ever learned is that I don't have all the answers, just a little light to call my own."-_

 _I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed me to be. Please keep the records. I can't take them with me, and I think, perhaps, you may need them more than me. After all, they hold many of the answers that I'm afraid I'll never be able to give you._

 _I'll always love you._

 _Elena'_

"Donate 'em, sell 'em, burn 'em," I scowl. "I don't care."

"You lived together for over a year," says Ric calmly. "You care."

"Well she as fuck sure didn't!" I feel my rage growing as I step towards the record player on the shelf. I glare at it in loathing, unsure of why I felt the need to ever unpack it. "God, it was just supposed to be a business trip! How did a fucking business trip turn into all of this?"

I examine the room as I run a hand through my hair again. Ric watches me nervously, unsure if he wants to add in his two cents or not. He finally does. "Well, I won't lie. Getting a call from you, asking me to let movers into your place so that they could pack up everything you own and ship it to _Charleston_ so that you could move in with a girl you'd barely known for six weeks wasn't exactly the most… _rational_ thing I'd ever heard, but hey. Who am I to judge? I'm a 34 year old man who drinks bourbon for breakfast, and whose most romantic gesture has been attempting to steal an engaged woman."

I can't help but chuckle; more from being exhausted than from actual amusement, but still, it was a valiant effort on his part. Hearing Ric verbally recall the abruptness of my decision does little to help my pride though.

"God, I was an idiot."

"Maybe a little," Ric smiles as he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "But in the plus column – at least you gained some quality bartending skills," he smirks mockingly as he shakes his empty glass at me. I roll my eyes before forcing a smile and taking his glass to once again pour us each another round.

"What was it called again? The Blind Cat?" He laughs.

"The Blind Tiger," I finally smile, giving in at Ric's attempt to cheer me up. "And for the record, I was a damn good bartender _before_ Charleston."

" _That_ , my friend, is up for debate."

"Yeah well, Harvard says otherwise."

"Pity tips and flirtatious bribery doesn't count," he laughs. "Besides, that was just supposed to be a temporary hobby, not a career choice."

I smile and shake my head, remembering a time in which the long nights at the bar, and the even longer days in the library, had been some of the most difficult of my life. But in retrospect, I wouldn't change them for anything. Absolutely nothing had been more rewarding than the satisfaction of refusing my father's money, and thereby his manipulative control, as I completed my education on my own dime.

It had also been one of the few times in my life when I could strongly remember feeling free. I can still remember the smell of that old dive bar in downtown Boston. I can still hear the sounds of the rambunctious crowds on a Saturday night and the steady melody of the jukebox on a Monday afternoon. The bar scene, as I quickly discovered, suited me more readily than an Armani tie and oversized courtroom ever would, but it didn't change the fact that Salvatore and Associates would always be in my path, and my father would always be the dark shadow looming in my every doorway.

" _Why not just walk away then? Quit. Leave it all behind. Find something you actually enjoy doing?" She smiles as she pulls the basket of beer-battered French fries we are currently sharing closer to her side of the wooden table. The rolling tide and squawking sound of seagulls echo around us, but other than that, we are left completely alone at the end of the pier._

" _I do enjoy what I do," I quickly defend, "and I'm damn good at it." I smirk arrogantly back over at her, taking a fry in the process. But she doesn't buy my deflection._

 _She arches her eyebrows at me as she bites into a fry. I don't have to say anything for her to know exactly what I'm thinking – which I find slightly bizarre considering she's only known me for about three weeks now. I sigh, giving into her look as I lean forward and stare off into the distance, using the ocean as an excuse to avoid her eyes._

" _I don't know, I mean, I used to enjoy it. I used to enjoy everything about it. I got paid to think, talk and argue – all things I would do anyway." We both smile. "Not to mention, it's provided me with about a hundred opportunities to really get under Giuseppe's skin." She doesn't bat an eye at me calling my father by his first name, even though I know it makes her sad. "But I guess, somewhere along the way, it just became this thing that I was supposed to be doing, as opposed to something I really wanted to be doing."_

" _Okay, so what do you really want to be doing?"_

 _She asks as if it's so easy, as if it's such a simple question to answer. I smile, shaking my head. "You first."_

" _Who said I wasn't happy working at Blu's?" she quickly replies, looking offended._

" _Oh, shit. No, I didn't mean it like that," I quickly try to recover, feeling like such a dick for just insulting her. "Waitressing is great. If that's what you,"_

" _I'm just messing with you," she smiles, playfully hitting my shoulder. I smile and shake my head, feeling relief and, in an attempt to retaliate, reach forward to take the last fry. She glares at me in playful demeanor. "I'll get you back for that."_

" _Maybe. Maybe not," I challenge._

 _She grins, moving in slightly closer towards my face, before finally resting her elbow on the table, her head in her palm, watching me intently. I return her gaze, watching as her long brown hair, wavy from the day at the beach, brushes against her sun kissed shoulders. The glow of the sunset is illuminating her every feature and, for a brief moment, I wonder how I'll ever be able to walk away from her when the time inevitably comes. God, she is, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women I've ever met._

" _I want to be a doctor."_

 _I suddenly snap back into our conversation, taking in her words. I quickly find myself wanting to know why, where, and when. I want to know absolutely everything about this girl - her hopes, her fears, her dreams. Everything. As though she's reading my mind, she continues on._

" _My dad had his own practice when I was growing up. He was a GP in a small town in Virginia. I remember as a kid, I just always wanted to be around him. He was always smiling, always helping. He was the kindest man I'd ever know."_

" _Was?"_

 _She smiled weakly. "Both my parents died in a car crash a few years back. It's just me and my younger brother now."_

" _Geez," I whisper. "Elena, I'm so sorry."_

 _She shakes her head. "Don't be. It's not your fault."_

 _Still though, my heart aches for her. I feel my hand involuntarily moving in to hold hers. She smiles at the touch. "I want to be a surgeon," she continues, "and someday, I'll get there. I've just got to wait for the right moment. I'll know it when it happens." She smiles brightly and confidently, making me believe her._

" _What's the right moment?"_

 _She shakes her head. "Nope, I've shared too much already," she laughs, sitting up straighter and running her fingers through her hair. "Your turn! Come on! What would you be? If you could be anything, absolutely anything in the entire world, what would you be?"_

 _I let out a long sigh, turning back to face the ocean to avoid her gaze. I know the answer, but that doesn't make me feel any less like I'm giving her some cliché answer._

" _I'd like to own a bar," I finally say._

 _She pauses. I can feel her watching me intently, possibly waiting for me to say I'm just kidding, or possibly because she's contemplating on what joke to make about the Harvard lawyer, slash wannabe bartender. But instead, I'm almost taken aback by the sudden feeling of her fingertips against my face, the gentleness of her caress as they slowly ease their way into my hair._

 _I slowly turn my head to face her, noticing that she's now moved her body even closer than before. She's close enough that I can smell the salt that still lingers on her skin and what remains of her herbal shampoo._

" _So do it," she sighs seductively against my lips. I lean forward, brushing mine against hers, desperate to kiss her, desperate to finally taste her skin. "You could walk away. Start fresh. Move on. Maybe even to Charleston." She whispers playfully, but somehow, there's seriousness in her tone._

 _And as her lips finally crash into mine, as I taste her tongue and feel her fingers lightly trace my jawline, and as the waves crash around us and the salty-sea breeze blows through her long hair, I find myself actually considering the possibility._

"I think the worst part is that maybe she was right." I ignore Ric's previous comment, as I continue to stare at the record player. "Maybe I was just using her. Maybe we were both just using each other. It was an escape. Maybe it was all just a lie."

I hear Ric sigh, again indicating his uncertainty in speaking up. He does. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're home, Damon. We need you back at work and I know that your brother and Caroline have all really missed you but," he trails off.

"But what?"

"But," he drags out, "I find it really hard to believe that you would have just given up all of _this_ ," he indicates to the penthouse and city view, "for just some fling. I know you, possibly better than anyone, and commitment has never exactly been your strong suit. I mean, for God's sake, you were going to fucking marry her! You tolerated her strange taste in music," he taps a box labeled '2010 Indie,' "and ability to only speak in lyrical quotations!" We both laugh slightly. "Now, if _that's_ not love, I have no idea what is."

And I know he's right. No matter what I want to tell myself, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind… I did love her. In fact, I can even remember the exact moment I knew.

" _You know how some people are afraid of clowns and spiders and stuff? Or how others are afraid of never finding the perfect love or having the perfect family in the perfect house with the perfect white picket fence?"_

 _I smile and nod as I chop vegetables, watching her as she studies the screen of her MacBook that rests on the island in the middle of our tiny kitchen. She's much more concerned with selecting a playlist than the smoking stovetop behind her. Suddenly noticing, I attempt to intervene and save dinner by quickly rushing to pull the, now completely charcoaled, chicken away from the flames._

" _Well I don't think I'm afraid of any of that."_

 _I can't help but chuckle at how completely oblivious she is to the chaos behind her as I quickly turn off the stovetop burner, throw the scorching pan into the sink, which sends a cloud of smoke into the air, and try to somehow still salvage what was supposed to be, according to her Pinterest recipe, Chicken Marsala. No luck – it's burnt to a crisp and now soggy as hell. I silently wonder if she'll notice if I slip out and pick us up a pizza._

" _So you're saying," I grin slyly, calmly stepping away from the madness to turn and wrap my arms around her waist, "that if a spider was crawling up your neck right now," I gently kiss her neck, causing her to shiver, "you wouldn't totally freak out?"_

 _She giggles and leans her head against mine, "Okay, well maybe a little." She turns around to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck. "But that's why you're here: to protect me from creepy-crawly things. So there's really no need to be afraid of them, now is there?"_

" _I feel so used," I chuckle. "Then tell me then. What is it? What does the beautifully, strong and confident Elena Gilbert have to be afraid of?" I tuck a loose strand of her long brown hair behind her ear, studying her face._

 _She smiles, but her eyes are serious. "I'm afraid of never finding the perfect moment. All I need is one."_

" _Well this is a pretty good one," I smile, kissing her._

 _She smiles, but shakes her head. "No, I mean like, a real heart-stopping, breathtaking, beautifully-perfect moment; one that makes the earth stop and time stand still, one that changes everything and forces you to re-evaluate everything you've ever believed in. And of course," she grins, "don't even get me started about the song."_

" _It's all about the song," I finish for her._

 _She nods, smiling. "I'm afraid I'll never find it. The perfect song to fit the perfect moment."_

 _I stare at her and shake my head. I have no idea how I found myself here. I have no idea how, what should have been the worst night of my career, had led us to this moment; a moment that I myself find to be pretty heart stopping. I am in awe of her. I am captivated by every syllable that leaves her mouth. I am hooked. I am officially in way too deep and in so far over my head that I am absolutely powerless to turn back._

" _I love you," I finally say, the words falling effortlessly from my lips._

 _Her breath catches slightly and she stares at me. Her favorite José González song plays softly through her computer and I think I have her. I think we've found the moment._

 _But instead she smiles and shakes her head. "Almost," she whispers, kissing me deeply. "But I think we're getting closer."_

 _I smile, kissing her for as long as I can before she finally pulls back, her nose and eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Is something burning?"_

I am angry and there is no stopping my rage. The record player is suddenly being pulled from the shelf and thrown clear across the room. The sound of it shattering against the wall feels good. I need to break something else. I quickly reach for a box, tearing it apart in an attempt to reach the nearest record.

"Damon!" Ric shouts, attempting to intervene. I feel his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. I shrug it off, refusing to be deterred from my mission. I grab the first album in the stack, _Abby Road_ , and prepare to smash it, but it's quickly pulled from my hand.

"Hey now! Not even I can condone the smashing of The Beatles!"

I ignore him and reach for another, but he quickly grabs my shoulders, shaking me and forcing me to look at him. "Damon, stop! What the hell are you doing?"

I pull away, throwing his hands off of me, and begin to pace. "I hate her."

"You don't."

"I fucking hate her, Ric!" I head back to the kitchen and reach for the bottle of bourbon. It's finally starting to kick in. I feel it coursing through my bloodstream, but I need more.

"Then why did you bring it all back then, huh? Why not just leave it in Charleston? She obviously didn't give two thoughts about leaving it all behind, so why did you?"

I'd been asking myself those questions for months now, unable to find the answer. I should have tossed it all out. I should have burned everything, including our tiny, one-bedroom rent house, to the ground. I should have smashed every record and destroyed every memory and then been on the first flight back to New York. But I didn't and I hadn't.

There'd been a fight, one fight that had changed everything. I'd walked out, unsure of when I'd return, and when I finally did, she was gone. Just gone, as though we'd never happened, as though we'd never existed.

She'd taken only her most essential belongings: clothing, jewelry, her phone, iPod, passport and a few photos that had once hung above her dresser – none of which included me. No, those she'd left behind for me to stare at, which I had…for days.

And just like a fool, I'd waited for her. For months I'd lived in denial, drinking all day and night – sleeping only when my body betrayed me enough to demand it- until one day, finally, my brother had shown up and threatened to kick my ass all the way back to New York unless I was on the next flight home with him. Not that I couldn't have taken him, but I guess, I just didn't have the energy.

We hired movers and, when they'd asked what I wanted to take, I said nothing… except the records. For whatever reason, I just couldn't leave them behind. I suppose in hindsight, I had completely contradicted myself – as indicated by the enormous stack of boxes now residing in my living room, mocking and taunting me.

"I have no idea," I finally answer, attempting to calm down. "But it doesn't matter now. Just get rid of them."

Ric nods. "How about you get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow? First day back and all…"

I agree, even though I'm anything but tired. The idea of work in the morning has me taking another swig from the bottle.

"And take it easy on the bourbon, will ya? Your father's going to kill me if you show up hung over."

The mention of my father has me wanting to down every last drop, but I nod in agreement, for Ric's sake.

Time seems to be standing still as I remain motionless in the kitchen. I feel him pat me on the back, and I hear the sound of the door opening and closing as he leaves. I find myself thinking back to Elena's description of moments again, and how they can change everything.

There's no music playing, but I'm sure this is what she was talking about. This has to be that moment when the world just stops spinning and you're forced to re-evaluate everything you've ever believed in. It's definitely not beautiful, and it's sure as fuck not perfect, but it's most certainly real. It's painful and it's truthful.

As I turn and stare back at the records, I silently wonder which song she would have chosen for this kind of pain.

But it doesn't matter now. Much like the smashed LP12, we are irreparably broken. We are beyond repair and unfixable. We are left with no choice but to pick up the pieces, move forward and learn to appreciate the silence.

* * *

 **Here we go, my friends! I'm so excited to start a new adventure with you, and we certainly have a long way to go, so if you're intrigued, I hope you'll stay tuned. Please subscribe and review! xx**


	2. Fading Bright Eyes Dark

**So sorry that this took so long! There is just so much to cover in each chapter that it's taking a bit longer than usual for me to get it all exactly the way I want it. Please don't become disheartened by the strange change of events in this chapter - I promise things will begin to clear up soon!**

 **In an effort to give credit to all of the artists whose lyrics I will be using throughout this story, keep an eye out for the *s. I will do my best to post the artists and song titles at the end of each chapter.  
**

 **Thanks for reading!** **xx**

* * *

 **Fading Bright Eyes Dark  
** If the years of frustration distort what you see  
It's harder and harder to leave  
\- Scars on 45 **  
**

* * *

 **One Year Later**

"Well, I'm an optimist. I tend to see the glass half full."

"No," chuckles my father from across the table, "you're a day trader! You just add more whiskey!" Both gentlemen laugh loudly and I roll my eyes. "But seriously, I told him that if he couldn't handle the merger then he'd better start packing because there'd be no room for him at Salvatore and Associates, or any other firm in Manhattan for that matter! We didn't become number one by having those kind of piss poor closing skills!"

"He just has to talk business, doesn't he? Can't let it go for even one evening?" I sigh into her ear. She smiles sweetly as she rests her arm across the back of my chair and begins to lightly run her nails across my scalp in an effort to calm me. "Can someone please take the alcohol away from my father?" I attempt as a joke, but look down the table to my brother, Stefan, pleadingly.

My father waves me off in annoyance and, to spite me, takes another sip of his Scotch before continuing on in his conversation. It doesn't matter that we're in one of the finest hotels in New York, sitting in a banquet hall that's nearly twice the size of my penthouse; surrounded by caterers, servers and decorative floral centerpieces that probably cost more than all of their combined salaries. It doesn't even matter that the majority of our guests secretly loath and fear Giuseppe, despite the smiles on their million dollar faces, or that this is _my_ party, honoring an event he initiated and that he, of all people, should be more than thrilled to be attending. He's still just as arrogant as ever.

Yup. His patronizing ways, grandiose sense of self-importance, and inability to show empathy towards anyone other than a manipulated courtroom are fully evident tonight, and hell if he's going to change that anytime soon. Not even for a night as important as this.

Caroline, who sits at Stefan's right-hand side, suddenly shoves her elbow into his chest in an effort to urge him into a standing position. Hesitantly, he rises to his feet and holds his drink in a cheers motion before tapping his fork against it. "Can I have everyone's attention please?"

My Father finally pulls away from his conversation with Mason, his most beloved financial counselor and someone I, quite frankly, despise, and acknowledges my brother. Ric leans in on my left side and whispers, "this ought to be good."

I smile, knowing he's probably right.

"I would like to thank you all for joining us tonight as we celebrate such a momentous occasion, but mainly," he pauses and grins, "thank you for being a witness." The guests chuckle slightly as Stefan acknowledges everyone around the giant table. "When my brother called me into his office last week, I was expecting him to ask me his opinion on the Knicks game… actually I was just praying to God that he hadn't just bet his entire life's savings away and now needed my help in robbing a bank. I know how hard you take those losses to Miami brother," he smirks over at me and I grin, acknowledging a simpler time when our heated conversations over sports were actually something I looked forward to.

"But when I walked in," he continues, "I saw you opening your prized bottle of Michter's – a five- _thousand_ dollar bottle of bourbon, ladies and gentlemen -," he explains to the guests. Most of them appear undaunted, as if Stefan had just mentioned the weather, but intrigued and amused nonetheless.

"And I thought, 'yup, this is it. Either we're about to celebrate something really big or he's about to have _another_ quarter-life crisis."

The guests, and my father in particular, laugh at their shared inside joke. My mother, at his right-hand side, shifts uncomfortably in her seat, watching me nervously from across the table. I just roll my eyes and shake my head in annoyance as I sip from my drink.

"But then, you turned and said to me calmly, 'Stefan, I've got it all figured out.'"

"Finally," my father chimes in.

"And so then I think, 'okay, we're obviously talking about the Donavan-Peterson trial, right?' I think you've finally found the missing piece that's going to turn this whole case around, when I hear you say 'which one?' I turn and look to see what the hell you're talking about, only to find three black jewelry boxes sitting on your desk."

All the guests hold onto Stefan's every word in amusement and genuine curiosity. My eyes wander around the room until I see the door with the word 'exit' plastered above it. If I were to be really quiet, I wonder if anyone would even notice if I slipped out.

"My first reaction, obviously, is "I'm flattered," he laughs, as do the guests, when he insinuates to himself. "You think I'm joking, but I genuinely thought they were cufflinks!" They all laugh again and I can't help but let out a small smile, knowing his story is true. "But when I finally opened the boxes and the disappointment began to gradually fade, I actually thought… wow. My brother is getting engaged."

The mood in the room suddenly shifts at his now sincere tone. Stefan is definitely the king of bullshitting his way through speeches. Hell, he could win the heart of a goldfish if it'd look him in the eyes long enough.

"As I began to examine the three diamond rings that my brother had so cautiously and meticulously narrowed it down to, I was honestly speechless. Not just that he was about to _finally_ stop being such a knucklehead and make this beautiful woman his wife already,"

Stefan gestures to the woman sitting at my right-hand side as she smiles and shakes her head before leaning in against my shoulder. I take her left hand in mine and casually trace my thumb along the platinum band and large halo diamond that sits on her finger.

"But because he was entrusting _me_ to help him make the final decision. And for those of you who've never read her book and may not know, the wildly successful, confident and beautiful Rose-Marie Taylor does not say 'yes' to just anyone!"

I hear her laugh softly as she shakes her head in playful agreement. I don't know why suddenly the room feels several degrees hotter. I begin to tug on my collar in aggravated discomfort.

"But for whatever reason - a reason that not even the universe can comprehend - she said yes to my brother." Stefan smiles as he raises his glass to me. "And I could not be happier for the two of them. To the future Mr. and Mrs. Salvatore… or Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, whichever she'll allow!" He chuckles, as does the rest of the room. "Cheers!"

The consensual sound of "Cheers" is echoed throughout the room, followed by the loud clinking sound of dozens of Champaign glasses.

"Oh, Stefan. Ever the eloquent speaker," I sigh softly to Rose as I finish off the remainder of my drink. He smiles across the room at me before re-taking his seat next to Caroline. I attempt to return it in an effort to show my gratitude – and, despite my tone, I am. Regardless of the perpetual pain in the ass that he is, my brother has always been the only constant in my life, and at the end of the day, we'd do anything for one another.

As the casual chatter resumes amongst the crowd and the string quartet begins to strike up another song, I feel myself growing restless. Rose, sensing my discomfort, turns to face me. I feel her hand brush against my knee.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," she whispers warmly, moving in to kiss my cheek.

I smile, feeling guilty for all of my non-stop complaining leading up to our engagement dinner. I know it means a lot to her, and despite my annoyance with my family, I _am_ happy to be here with her.

I pull her hand up to my lips and press a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You look beautiful tonight." And she does. Her shoulder-length brown hair is lightly curled to perfectly accentuate her oval face; her eye makeup seamlessly heightening her emerald green eyes, and her elegant, red, Dolce Gabbana dress, effortlessly hugs her body in all the right places.

She smiles as she runs a hand across my face, too confident to deny it and too humble to agree. It's one of the many things I love about her.

After a few moments of solace spent within our own world, we finally turn back to acknowledge our guests, none of whom have so much as noticed our momentary lack of contribution to the current conversation. My mother sits in silence, still looking just as uncomfortable as ever, as she observes everyone around her. For a moment, I feel the slightest tinge of pity for her, knowing that she's probably the only other person in the room who can relate to my eternal loathing of any event that involves my father's presence. But then, I remember that she's not exactly my favorite person at the moment either.

My eyes then land on Stefan and Caroline. They are engaged in what appears to be a playful, flirtatious conversation as they both laugh obnoxiously and continue to whisper sweet nothings into one another's ears. They've been married for over a year now, but the way they act, you'd think they were still on their honeymoon.

"I love how in love they are," Rose sighs contently, resting her head on her hand as she watches them. "I hope that's us - five, ten years down the road."

"It will be," I quickly assure her, lightly brushing her shoulder before leaning in to kiss her. "I promise."

At that moment, the sound of stiletto heels clicking against the floor diverts my attention to a new guest entering the room. The clicking is so pretentious and defined, it echoes above the sounds of the perfectly tuned violins – irking me as though it were the sound of nails on a chalkboard. I feel my eyes widen and my blood begin to boil at the sight of Katherine Pierce entering the room.

"Sorry I'm late," she smirks as she struts her way through the banquet hall. "Traffic was just," she pauses as her gleaming eyes land on me, "dreadful."

"Nonsense, Ms. Pierce," my father beams. "We've barely just begun. Here," he rises to pull a chair out for her and grabs a glass of Champaign from the passing wait staff, "take a seat." He then turns back to the crowd. "Katherine is currently in the process of working on a multi- _billion_ dollar pharmaceutical merger. She's just about damn near got it too!" He gloats to the table. "If anyone deserves to be late, it's this girl right here."

"You've got to be kidding me," I groan over my drink. Rose's hand quickly finds my knee, squeezing it tightly in an attempt to suppress the rage she knows is coursing through my bloodstream. I quickly feel guilty. If the sight of my ex has me this on edge, I can only imagine what it's doing to her. Rose, however, appears just as elegant and unfazed as ever.

"Well, I had hoped that Damon would join me," Katherine pouts, looking in my direction. "Those late nights and early mornings just aren't quite the same without him."

Giuseppe laughs, impervious to her innuendo. "Well, if only he'd invest half as much time into his career as he does into chasing women."

"Did," corrects Rose, smiling politely as she raises her glass in his direction.

"And thank God for that!" The crowd laughs amongst themselves.

"So, Damon," Mason pipes up, "what's next for the two of you? Will you be staying in New York? London? Charleston, maybe?"

A few sneers erupt from several of my colleagues. Despite it having been well over a year, my time in Charleston still remains the running joke of the office.

"Well, Damon has considered transitioning to the London office," says Rose, ignoring the joke. "It would make sense – with my family still living there. And of course, there's my practice."

"But of course, it wouldn't hurt to stay and see the merger through," I smile at Rose before turning to glare at Mason and Katherine. "Just to make sure no wrongdoings are taking place. Wouldn't want our _beloved_ company to come down in flames over a few," I hesitate, "mishandled finances."

" _My_ company," my father corrects, glaring at me. "Is there something you'd like to share, Damon?" He asks, his tone full of that familiar disappointment that I so easily bring out in him. The entire room falls silent. I see my mother straightening up in her seat, looking nervous and unsure if she should intervene. Caroline and Stefan quickly pause their flirtatious banter to watch the scene before them.

"No, not at all," I chuckle. "Just curious to your thought process in tasking Satan and an ex money launderer to such an important case. But then again, you _did_ invite them to my engagement party, so there's that." Rose's hand quickly finds and squeezes my wrist, urging me to back down. She hate's Katherine and Mason just as much as I do, but she's far too classy and elegant to start a fight here.

"How about dessert?" Says Caroline, quickly jumping to a standing position and urgently motioning the servers over. "Who wants cake? I for one am dying to try one of those adorable mini cheesecakes!"

"Me too!" Stefan smiles, lifting his finger in dutiful agreement.

The rest of the guests seem to take Stefan and Caroline's lead as they attempt to resume their casual chatter, obviously making quite the effort to avoid the heavy gaze that still lingers between my father and I.

"This _party_ ," Giuseppe emphasizes, continuing on despite their best efforts, "is for your benefit, Damon – not mine! God knows we'll probably be throwing you another one next year." Rose and many of the other guests gasp at this. "And how I choose to assign the merger and run the rest of the firm is none of your goddamn business. Perhaps if you'd ever pull your head out of your ass long enough to stop making such ridiculously impulsive decisions, you could be the one calling the shots."

The room is silent; many of our guests now look down at the table for fear of being caught in the line of fire that sears between us. I glare daggers at him, ready to shoot venom and hurt him in anyway I can, but Rose beats me to it.

"You're right, Mr. Salvatore," she says quietly, her demeanor eerily calm. "Damon _is_ reckless and impulsive." I quickly turn to face her, feeling the slightest tinge of anger and betrayal. "He makes abrupt decisions, falls in love quickly and, _sometimes_ , plays more by emotion and spontaneity rather than rationality," she slowly turns to look at me. Her expression is solemn and tender, and the second my eyes meet hers, I know there is no trace of malice in her intent. "He is dangerously passionate about what he believes in. He fights for his clients, his brother," she turns back to look at my father, "even you. He's a damn good attorney and an even better lover," a few of the guests in the room smile, finally cutting away some of the tension from the room. "He is wildly attractive and, when he's not being weighed down by work, ridiculously fun. He makes me laugh and, in the most beautiful way, question everything I've ever believed in."

This particular phrase catches my attention.

"He is smart, witty, charming and somehow, miraculously still available – that is, until November first. So yes, Mr. Salvatore, you are right," she turns back to look at me and gently places a hand on my cheek. "Damon is wonderfully and ridiculously impulsive, and because of that," she pauses, moving her hand along my jaw as her eyes watch mine, "I absolutely cannot wait to marry him."

I smile at her, amazed by her ability to calm my nerves and completely turn such a horrible situation around. As I lean in to kiss her, the guests around us suddenly begin applauding, probably due more to relief that the confrontation hadn't ended with fists and a body cast.

I hear my father scoff, but he remains silent nonetheless. I continue to kiss her for several moments, knowing that it irritates him, but also because I'm in complete aw of her. The fearlessness, grace and tact she'd just shown in standing up to Giuseppe was something very few could or would ever do – hell, even I still struggled and I'd had years of practice.

For the next hour or so, the dinner continues on without so much as a hitch or even one snarky comment. It seems as though Rose's moving speech encouraged even the worst of our guests to finally exert some manners.

As everyone finishes up dessert and begins to casually meander around the room - Rose and Caroline engage in wedding planning mode, Ric uselessly flirts with the engaged litigation associate he's so hung up on, and Stefan attemps to console my train wreck of a mother and calm down my father - I find myself once again feeling incredibly restless and in desperate need of air.

I feel Rose take hold of my hand as I attempt to sneak away, forcing me to look back and acknowledge the worried expression on her face. I quickly lean in to lightly brush her arms and give her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "I'll be right back," I whisper.

"Would you like for me to come with you?" The concern in her voice has me feeling slightly guilty.

"No," I reply in the gentlest tone I can muster. "I just need some air."

She nods in acceptance as she watches me walk away. Despite their conversations, I feel the attentive gaze of almost everyone in the room as their eyes follow me until I'm out the door.

When I reach the hotel lobby and then the revolving doors, I feel a sense of relief begin to wash over me. As the cold February air begins to rush into my lungs, I feel gratitude, as though I can finally breathe. I quickly lean forward, hands on my knees, in an attempt to eradicate all the anger and hatred I'm still feeling towards my father for nearly ruining our dinner. I have no idea what the hell I was thinking – agreeing to this entire charade. It was all just a big show, an excuse for him to talk business and show off, while simultaneously attempting to prove to the world that his son hadn't completely flown off the handle. Well, mission accomplished, _dad_.

As I slowly rise back up and begin to look around – I feel myself questioning how the hell I got here.

It's not that I'm not in love with Rose. I am. And honestly, it blows me away because I never thought it would be possible to feel that way about someone ever again – especially so quickly after… everything.

It certainly wasn't love at first sight though.

After a string of one-night stands and drowning myself in bourbon, Stefan and Caroline had decided I needed to find myself a steady girlfriend – more so because Stefan needed a way to get Giuseppe off of his back about my 'bad' behavior and Caroline knew the "perfect" girl who could "give me a run for my money."

Little had I known just how right my blonde, eccentrically detail-oriented sister-in-law would turn out to be – and hell if she'd ever let me forget it.

At first, Rose had irritated me. Everything from the way she psychoanalyzed and challenged my every thought and decision, to the way she could pinpoint my every fear, aggravation and frustration – most of which, boiled down to heartbreak.

She was a published, private psychologist from London – whom Caroline had met, of all places, at a bar during her bachelorette party. Rose, who was in New York to promote her new book at the time, just happened to have stumbled into the same bar Caroline's minions had deemed the appropriate hotspot for the bride-to-be. And of course Caroline, being the ever-so-inclusive, happy-go-lucky drunk that she is, had instantly declared Rose to be her new best friend.

And Rose, being the kindhearted, just-go-with-it soul that _she_ is, had not only happily obliged to Caroline's drunken whim, but had also made sure she'd gotten home safely. Hell, she'd even brought her coffee and aspirin the next morning. They'd been close friends ever since.

After the book tour, Rose had been invited to stay and assist with an "addictive-behavioral research study" at NYU, which she had called "some of the most important work of her career," forcing her to relocate back to the city for several months. It had been during this time that we'd met and everything had changed so quickly.

I hadn't meant to fall for her. At the time, she'd just been another means to help me forget about Elena. But, I suppose, there'd just been something in the way that she was so 'put-together'. She had everything so figured out – who she was, who she wanted to be, what she was going to do and even how the hell she was going to do it. Such a polar opposite from who I'd been – who I still am I guess. At the time, I suppose I'd just needed the stability.

But I do love her. I repeat this phrase over and over in my head, not allowing the doubts or 'what-ifs' to creep into my mind.

As I finally shake off whatever pieces of anger still linger towards my father and turn to head back inside, I suddenly freeze, stopping dead in my tracks as a sound reaches my ears. It's a song – something familiar.

A gentle beat, the strumming of a guitar; lyrics that I subconsciously recognize, but can't distinguish.

When I turn my head, the sound becomes faint and barely audible. I can't make it out.

I continue to listen, attempting to drown out the noise of the traffic, car horns and pedestrians that surround me.

I begin to walk down W. 56th and away from the Meridien, slowly at first, but then ever so more rapidly, desperate to rediscover the sound, desperate to reconnect with its comfort and familiarity. I have absolutely no idea what's come over me as I turn the corner in search of a sound that I can't even fully hear.

(Singing) "It's not your eyes. It's not what you say. It's not your laughter that gives you away."

There it is again, much more distinct this time. The voice isn't quite as I remember, but close enough. I find myself rushing down the street, knowing I'm drawing closer as every syllable slowly becomes louder.

(Singing) "All your perfectly delivered lies, they don't fool me. You've been lonely, too long."

Then it hits me. I know exactly where I've heard it.

" _I love this song," she whispers, staring down at the record she's just put on. The room is dark, illuminated only by dimly lit candles. Rain hits our windowpane as it falls heavily outside and the strong sound of thunder rattles our apartment. Our electricity hasn't gone out, but she likes to pretend._

 _Only her silhouette is visible, but I can see her hips beginning to sway. She wears nothing more than my black cotton tee shirt – all of our soaking wet clothing scatters the floor around her. We'd been much too busy than to get around to picking them up._

 _Unable to resist, I approach behind her and wrap my arms around her. She smiles as she continues to stare down at the spinning record. "Dance with me," I whisper against her ear._

 _I feel her grin. Happy to oblige, she slowly turns to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck in the process. As the candlelight catches her eyes and illuminates her olive skin, I become lost in the moment. She is absolutely stunning._

 _As we slowly move to the music, and as I press my forehead against hers, I honestly believe that life cannot possibly ever get any better than this._

" _I love you."_

 _And just like that, she once again proves me wrong._

I finally discover the source of the music.

As I reach 7th Avenue and turn towards Carnegie Hall, I see them: two street performers, one male and one female, softly strumming their guitars, singing in perfect harmony, a guitar case laid open before them.

(Singing) "Let me in the wall you've built around, and we can light a match and burn them down. And let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flames in front of us. Dust to dust."*

I am hypnotized by the melody as I listen and reflect on old memories that still haunt me. I have no idea how she's still here; how she's still undeniably nowhere, while still absolutely everywhere.

" _It's funny how music makes us remember moments – how it always takes us back."_

I groan, feeling sheer agony that Elena's words can still echo so clearly through my mind despite the amount of time that's gone by. I quickly do my best to shut it out.

"Damon!"

I sigh, knowing the voice of the person behind me well. As the crowd continues to grow steadier around the two performers, I quickly toss a fifty into their case, before turning around to face him.

"Save your breath, Stefan," I sigh, walking straight passed him back towards the hotel. "I'm going."

He quickly grabs onto my arm as I pass him, pulling me back around to face him. "Actually," he hesitates, "I was just going to ask if you were okay?"

I nod, feeling guilty for snapping at him, but pull away from his grip on my arm nonetheless. "Fine. Never better."

Stefan nods, but doesn't seem to buy it. As I turn to leave and begin walking away, I barely make it ten steps before I hear him ask, "Do you love her?"

I halt dead in my tracks, both shocked and angry at how casually he can ask me such an insulting question. I slowly turn around. "Excuse me?"

"Do you love her?" he repeats.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" I shout, forcing passing pedestrians to look over at us. "Do I _love_ her? I'm fucking marrying her, Stefan!"

Stefan nods as he moves towards me, slowly closing the gap between us. "I'm well aware. I helped you pick out the ring," he says coolly. "But what I'm asking you is, do you _love_ her?"

"Is this about me walking out? Because you know damn good and well that if Giuseppe hadn't gone and made a complete ass out of himself by trying to insult our engagement then I wouldn't have had to,"

"Damon," Stefan slowly repeats, cutting me off. "This isn't about dad."

"Isn't it though? Isn't it always about how that," I pause, gesturing with my hand back towards the direction of the hotel, "arrogant son of a bitch has to always find a way to insert himself into our lives? Always has to try and find a way to ruin everything good! Me, you, _mom_ ," I wince – it's so weird calling her that. "He ruins everything he touches, Stefan!"

"I'm just worried about you," he says softly with a shrug. Its funny how at small moments like these, the appearance of my younger, and often very naïve, brother suddenly resurfaces, forcing me to want nothing more than to protect him at all costs.

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Never been better. Rose and I are happy, and we'll be even happier the second we get the hell out of here." I turn to walk away again, knowing I need to get back to the hotel.

"It's just that you're different this time," he continues on, forcing me to stop and face him again. "I can't really explain it, but you're different."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that," he hesitates for a long time, "when you were with Elena there was this _life_ about you, this presence, this excitement. It was almost like I'd never really met you before. Never truly seen you. Every time we'd talk or I'd come see you, it was like you were just so," he pauses again, "alive."

I glare at him. I can feel my heart beginning to race in my chest at the mention of her name and the remembrance of those visits.

"None of that was real," I hiss, stepping closer to him. "You, of all people, know what a mistake that was. In fact, I precisely remember you calling it just that, a mistake! Ring any bells?"

"Damon, I,"

"Elena almost _ruined_ me, Stefan!" I nearly shout, forming a fist in my hand. "She put me through more misery and more agony than any woman in my entire life ever has!"

"Damon,"

"If I was more ' _alive_ ,'" I mock, "then it was only because I was just another idiot who got caught in her web of make-believe, lies and deceit. That's not love, Stefan. That's just stupidity."

Stefan watches me nervously before letting out a long sigh. "Okay," he gives in. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

I huff, unaccepting of his apology.

"But I just have to say," he continues, slowly taking a step back from me. "In the ten minutes that we've been standing here, not one of your responses was simply just a, 'Why yes, Stefan, of course I love her.'"

His watches me for a brief second before slowly stepping around me and walking away, leaving me to stand in the lonely, New York City crowd on 7th avenue with his words to wash over me. As the street performers strike up another song, I feel my heart beginning to race, my chest constricting and my breathing becoming shallow. I'm angry and annoyed, and want nothing more than to chase after my brother and punch him, but the feeling of anger seems to be too paralyzing and overwhelming.

I'm not thinking as I suddenly find myself grabbing a taxi and jumping inside. My head is everywhere and nowhere as I rationalize reasons why I'm abandoning my fiancé and returning home to my penthouse without her – none of which are excusable.

The cab ride takes nearly twenty minutes, but feels like only a few short moments as I remain lost in thought; oblivious to the passing city outside my window, my ringing cellphone or even the light snow that is beginning to fall.

When the cab finally stops, I pay my fare and climb out. I barely make it up the elevator and through my front doors before I'm yanking my tie from around my neck and tossing my jacket to the floor. My cell phone continues to ring, but I ignore it. I'm sure that by now it's become quite obvious to everyone, especially Rose, that I won't be coming back. I can already hear the hurt and disappointment in her tone.

God, what am I doing?

I still feel like I'm struggling to breathe as I lean my hands against the wall, anger continuing to course through my veins at Stefan's ridiculous accusation. I punch the wall in anger, doing far more damage to my knuckles than the wall. I curse out loud in pain and frustration before running a hand through my hair and beginning to pace.

Of course I love Rose! It's why I'm marrying her! Stefan doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. How can he possibly think that I haven't been _happy_ for the past six months? I've been happy! I _am_ happy!

I walk from the kitchen to the living room, unsure of why I'm this upset – it's not as though it's that unusual for my family to piss me off this badly. I should be used to being the punch line in their jokes, the topic of their conversations, or the recipient of their condescending advice...but for some reason, that doesn't stop me from feeling betrayed.

Stefan, of all people, should know by now to steer clear of all topics Elena. I mean, what the hell was he thinking? Where does he get off to accuse me of not loving Rose? Just because we don't act like him and Caroline - two ridiculous, love-struck, immature idiots– every second of every day, doesn't mean we're any less in love.

My phone begins to ring again. This time, I pull it from my pocket, finally checking the caller id. As Caroline's name flashes across the screen, I instantly send it to voicemail.

Great, Stefan and Rose have sent in the reinforcements. I will, quite literally, never hear the end of this.

Eight missed calls. I stare at the number for a brief second before tossing my phone down on the coffee table. No point in calling back now.

As I make my way into the bedroom, a weird feeling of guilt washes over me. The sight of Rose's jewelry on my nightstand, her perfume on my dresser and her clothing in my closet are all a very familiar sights by now, but yet somehow, still so unfamiliar.

Attempting to avoid the guilt, I turn away and walk back down the hall, passing by my large, overly-used office in the process. I stop and head back towards it, pausing and lingering in the doorway for a few moments as I stare inside. I let out a long sigh and cross my arms, finally acknowledging why my guilt still hovers around me at every turn in this house like a ghost.

Twice the size of a typical bedroom, there's no better room for holding secrets - but it's not the books in the cases that line the walls, or my executive mahogany desk, or even the locking filing cabinet that holds my attention.

There's a door – a door that no one but myself knows exists – and its hidden inconspicuously between two bookcases; blending perfectly with the neutral wall scheme and crown molding. A French painting of Rose's choosing - filled with so many colors it makes my head spin – sits in the center, making it even more undetectable and hidden to the inattentive eye. I'd discovered the room's secret shortly upon moving in, only after I'd drunkenly stumbled and the sound of a hollow wall had broken my fall.

I'm sure the room that lies behind it had been built for the intention of extra storage or to hide valuable property, and I suppose, that is what I'm using it for as well.

Don't get me wrong, I wish it were for something as cool and badass as a James Bond gadget room or, hell, even a Christian Grey Red Room of Pain at this point. But no, instead it's simply just a depressing reminder of a life I used to know with a woman I used to love.

As I maneuver my hands along the crown molding at the lower half of the door, pull upwards and then apply a small amount of pressure, I feel the wall give and begin to swing open. I step inside the room and hold my breath as I flick on the lights to illuminate the old, familiar sight of all the hundreds and hundreds of dusty records that now line the elongated bookcases on each side of the room. The LP12, restored and unharmed, sits on a small wooden desk at the end.

Indeed, there it is. Despite my anger and best intentions, I'd still, after all this time, been unable to throw them out. When Ric had attempted to make good on his promise and help me get rid of them, he'd returned only to find them already gone. I told him I'd already taken care of it – a lie that continues to haunt me.

The unpacked, unopened box labeled "Elena's things" lies on the ground a few feet from me and catches my attention. I hate myself for saving everything, and even more for even setting foot in this room, but it doesn't stop me from making my way over toward it, kneeling down and slowly opening it up.

A worn leather journal sits on top of a stack of old sweaters, photographs and random other knickknacks. I hesitate – knowing that right this second I should walk away; that I should get back to my livid fiancé, and pretend I'd never been here; pretend that this room doesn't even exist.

Instead, I pick up the journal. I brush the worn markings, silently wondering and appreciating how often she'd held it. My question is answered quickly when I begin to flip through it, noting that every single page has an entry – often, more than several to a page.

My heart is racing with both guilt and curiosity as I admire the curves of her handwriting, the markings of her pen against the yellowing pages.

Every. Single. Page.

Elena's words are once again everywhere. They are once again within reach, once again at my grasp.

I hold my breath, my head telling me to put it back and walk away, but my heart racing with anticipation and the need to know. I flip back to the first page and begin to read the first entry:

 _I couldn't spill my heart_  
 _My eyes gleam looking in from the dark_  
 _I walk out in stormy weather,_  
 _Hold my words_  
 _Keep us together*_

I stare at the words in confusion. "What the hell?" I whisper out loud. I flip over a few pages:

 _If you leave,_  
 _When I go…_  
 _You'll find me,_  
 _In the shallows._  
 _When the time comes,_  
 _On the last day….*_

I read the entry again, feeling more confused than ever. I find myself flipping through the pages backwards and forward – realizing that there is no logical order – until I finally catch an entry on the back of the front cover – _"Lyrics I love. Lyrics for us."_

I sigh in sheer disappointment while simultaneously hating that I am disappointed. I have no idea what I was expecting to discover, what answers I was hoping to find. But of course I know, when it comes to Elena, just like always, there are no answers.

Only riddles and more games and strange lyrics I don't recognize.

I look up, examining the hundreds of records that surround me. _"They hold many of the answers that I'm afraid I'll never be able to give you."_ I recite the words of her letter in my head before looking back down at the journal. Shaking my head, and acknowledging the stupidity in my actions, I decide to read one more. I flip to another random page.

 _Shadows on the water,_  
 _From a memory that turns inside,_  
 _From the last time I saw you happier, …_  
 _And it seems to me it all worked out so different._  
 _Funny how distance and time they don't change at all *_

I still don't understand. I decide to read just one more:

 _This melody_  
 _We will never speak_  
 _All the things that I regret if I could say anything_  
 _My apologies for the way I ended things_  
 _See I loved you but it scared me,_  
 _You scared me*_

I read them again…. and then again… and, just for good measure, one more time. I find myself studying them for several moments before I turn the page. I turn page after page, slowly at first, but then ever so more rapidly, desperate to take in ever single word she's left behind, desperate – just like a good book that you can't put down - to devour and understand her every emotion and intention behind the words she had chosen as important enough to declare the "lyrics for us."

"Damon?"

I slam the book shut. "Shit," I whisper under my breath. What the hell am I doing?

"Damon?" She calls out again from the front of the house.

I quickly toss the journal back into the box, stand and race back over to the door, and quietly close it behind me, once again concealing its identity.

Just as I turn away from the wall and begin to make my way towards the voice of my fiancé, who is continuing to desperately call my name, she appears in my office entryway. I attempt to gain control of my heavy, nervous breathing to avoid suspicion.

She looks as though she's been crying, and I instantly feel wave after wave of guilt as it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I begin to make my way towards her, praying that she'll somehow forgive me. "Rose," I plead, not knowing where to start.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" She says softly. Her tone is somber. There's no trace of anger.

I have no answer, but begin to make my way towards her. A tear slowly falls down her cheek as she shakes her head.

"Damon, I've been trying to call you," she sobs.

I shake my head. "I know. Rose, I'm so, so very,"

"Damon your dad," she interrupts.

I am prepared for yelling. I am prepared for fighting. I am prepared to have to beg and plead for her forgiveness. I am prepared to hear the list of demands I must do to make it up to her - but I am not, under any circumstances, prepared for the next sentence that slowly leaves her mouth.

"Damon your dad had a heart attack."

I gawk at her, unsure if I've just heard her correctly.

"Damon," she whispers, reaching out to hold onto my hand. "Damon, your father is dead."

* * *

 **Such a long way to go dear readers! Hold tight, the next chapter is about to introduce a LOT of Delena backstory.**

 **Songs for this chapter:**  
The Civil Wars - Dust to Dust  
The XX - Night Time  
Daughter - Shallows  
Ben Howard - Cloud Nine  
He Is We - Our July in the Rain

All great songs! Make sure to check them out! :) xx


	3. I Of The Storm

**Wow! Oh my gosh you guys! I am absolutely speechless and blown away by your enthusiasm and response to this story so far! I honestly wasn't expecting too much out of the first two chapters, so I am beyond ecstatic that you guys are loving it as much as I am so far. THANK YOU!**

 **I also want to apologize! I have been SO busy that I have been terrible at responding to all of your kind words. I promise, I will be sending each and every one of you a personal thank you as soon as I can - I just wanted to post a new chapter first. :)**

 **One of my dear friends, as she so lovingly puts it, refers to me as her "silent author friend" - meaning that I do not promote my own stories on social media, nor do I write with the expectation of receiving recognition. I just enjoy writing :) BUT, if you would like to connect with me on Twitter and begin receiving updates as they relate to music, upcoming lyrics and spoilers, I've recently created a page just for this story. Follow me at TVDReality - I only have like 14 followers, so it's currently kinda sad...lol**

 **Thanks again! xx**

* * *

 **I Of The Storm  
** _If I could make amends with all my shadows,_  
 _I'd bow my head and welcome them…_  
 _Are you really gonna love me when I'm gone?_  
\- Of Monsters and Men

* * *

The city is quiet. Possibly the quietest it's ever been.

A light frost covers the once-green grounds of the Woodlawn Cemetery, as an icy chill currently courses through the February air. I let out a long sigh, watching my breath as it appears, before inhaling deeply and then exhaling again. I repeat this process, allowing the icy numbness to become a familiar sensation within my lungs.

I place my gloved hands in my coat pockets; unable to move from the same spot I've been standing in for nearly an hour and a half.

Everyone is gone. The funeral is over and everyone has scattered; in a hurry to go about their day or continue on with the niceties that go along with memorials -gathering back at my Father's estate, bringing food to my mother, sending my brother and I their insincere condolences, etcetera.

Not that I blame them.

I am standing at the foot of the mound of dirt that has just been re-shoveled to cover my father's grave. I stare aimlessly at a headstone that reads "Giuseppe Salvatore, Loving Husband and Father," and all the while contemplate what it is I'm supposed to be feeling.

It would be easy to say I'm still in shock, but… I'm not. It's subsided over the last couple of days, as I've mindlessly signed off on everything from flower arrangements and obituary announcements, to coffin purchases and court date proceedings for the reading of my father's will.

Of course, I know I owe the majority of the real planning to Rose and Caroline, who've somehow even managed to keep the press away. I can't even imagine what kind of a circus this all would have been without them. God knows my mother couldn't have handled it.

I cross my arms, thinking of my mother. We've barely spoken throughout this entire process. She's been unreadable and primarily silent as she's gone through the motions - thanking attendees when necessary and crying at all the appropriate moments. But she's not fooling me. Her indifference is evident and apparent.

We are alike in this way.

It's a strange feeling though, having to fight to feel grief. What should come so naturally to most, feels like some strange, unknown territory to me. I desperately search my childhood memories for moments in which I did not always hate my father, and then wrestle with the guilt when I come up short. I am conflicted and torn, unsure of where I'm supposed to go from here.

In some ways, it's hard not to feel a sense of relief. A small part of me even wonders if I shouldn't take this moment and relish in it - a moment in which I, for once, get to look down upon _him_.

No more criticism. No more judgment. No more spiteful and malicious words to be thrown my way. No more being the verbal punching bag to an old man's bitter, drunken, and resentful ways. No more pitting brother against brother and mother against son. No, those days are officially over.

But then, as with so many of my thoughts these days, I think of her. I think of conversations long since washed away and forgotten. I think of the words she would say, the advice she would give and, most suitably, the song she would play.

I feel the weight of her journal from inside my coat pocket as it presses against my heart and reminds me of my treachery. Upon its initial discovery, I had made a promise to never again set foot in that room, but at some point between the dusk and the dawn on the third day of my father's death, the need and curiosity became too much.

Even though I know it's wrong, I would be lying if I said that having her words close to me hadn't brought me a great deal of comfort over the past few days. I think of the entry I read before the service this morning on page seventeen.

 _I think of you, much more than I should…  
And I'm falling down like it's holy ground_  
 _Slow regrets that live in the dark,_  
 _And I wrote them all down,_  
 _But I know them by heart*  
_

It's almost as if she planned it, almost as if she knew exactly what to say to suck me right back in. She doesn't even have to be here for me to know what she'd say now. I can still hear our conversation about my family as if it were yesterday.

" _Life is too short to hate someone so much," she says softly as we lie in the darkness underneath a blanket of stars._

 _We are both on the verge of sleep as we lay together on the picnic blanket she threw down hours ago, comfortably listening to the sounds of the Ashley River and the newly emerged, chirping crickets. Our empty bottle of red wine lies a few feet from us, as does her portable record player, which continues to spin idly despite the music having ended several moments ago._

" _You don't understand," I sigh, not looking over at her._

 _She continues to look upward, her head resting on my arm that's underneath her, as she studies the sky. "I understand," she says softly. "I think at some point, we all hate the people we love the most. That's just part of it, right?"_

 _I turn my head so that I can place a soft kiss on her temple. "I could never hate you." She smiles, but continues to stare at the stars, as though doubtful of my words._

 _After a few moments, I feel her move in closer, and I am reassured as she nestles her head against my chest and places her right arm across my waist. I begin to run my fingers lightly through her hair, relaxed and content at having her in my arms._

" _Tell me about your mom."_

 _I let out a long, lazy sigh; silently wishing we could get off the topic of my family. "There's nothing to tell."_

 _I feel her frown. "Damon," she pleads softly._

 _I kiss the top of her head, thankful she's too tired to put up much of a fight. We're both sleep-deprived due to our late night work schedules and determination to spend every remaining waking moment together._

 _After a few seconds of my continued, stubborn silence, she shifts her body around so that she can now rest her chin on my chest and look up at me. "I'd give anything to still have my parents," she says softly. "I just want to understand. I'll never ask again. I promise."_

 _I stare up at the sky, watching, as the stars grow brighter. I never talk about my mother, and for the last six months, I've pretty much tried to forget about her altogether._

 _Elena's been patient with me - never asking too much about my past, never pushing me to talk about my family or the life I ran away from – but something about the look in her eyes and the tone in her voice has me finally wanting to open up. I take another deep breath, hesitant and unsure of where to begin._

" _We were close when I was younger I guess."_

 _She nods, urging me to continue._

" _She did all the things a mom was supposed to do - took us to soccer practice, attended our games, came to Stefan's award banquets, or in my case, parent-teacher meetings," I smile, remembering the time I put thumbtacks in Jimmy Sanderson's chair._

" _But I don't know. I guess at some point, motherhood just became too much for her…. Not that I blame her…. I suppose if I had been married to someone as spiteful and controlling as Giuseppe, I would have given up too."_

 _I feel Elena looking at me curiously. "Wait, so if you don't blame her, then why…"_

" _Because she stayed," I answer flatly, avoiding her gaze. "I hate that she stayed."_

 _We are both silent for several moments, just listening to the sounds of one another breathe. I can feel Elena mulling over my words, confused but hesitant to investigate further. After a few moments, I give in to her silent questions._

" _I used to tell Stefan bedtime stories, sometimes 'til three in the morning, just to distract him from all the yelling until he'd finally go to sleep. As we got older, the fighting got worse and worse. Dad starting drinking and, shortly after, so did mom," I hesitate, trying to decide just how much to divulge. "I think at some point, Giuseppe must have had an affair – not that that information was ever fully revealed; I'm sure, anyone who knew about it was paid good and well to keep it quiet."_

 _I feel Elena frown as she listens quietly. I continue._

" _But I'll never forget this one-day after school, Stefan and I came home and found Lily going absolutely crazy. She was running around the house, attempting to compile all of his things so that she could burn them… honestly, at this point, I think she just wanted to burn the entire house down."_

 _Elena's mouth drops slightly, but I continue. "While I was trying to calm her down, Stefan called dad. By the time he finally got there, drunker and angrier than I'd ever seen him, Lily was a hysterical mess. The next thing I knew, he hit her… and then, just for trying to intervene and for good measure, he hit me too. Stefan must have been only eight at the time. I think I was thirteen."_

 _I feel Elena grow tense. After a few moments, she slowly rises up to a sitting position, her hand still resting on my chest, and looks down at me. Her eyes are filled with shock and sadness._

" _Everything changed after that," I say, slightly unfazed. "Mom shut down, never wanting to be too involved… never wanting to cross him again. And Stefan and I were left in dad's hands, never receiving too much of his time unless it was to criticize our life choices…. Mine more so than Stefan's."_

 _I take a long pause, reflecting on all the fighting and harsh words exchanged between my father and I during my childhood, continuing all the way through my adolescence and then, finally, into my adult life. I think about Stefan - always trying to be the mediator, always trying to please everyone and rectify every situation. He was, and still is, such a hopeless optimist._

" _Lily abandoned us… even if it wasn't in the literal sense. And I guess…. I don't know," I hesitate. "It's always been hard not to hate her for that."_

 _Elena nods, watching and studying my face. I know she is waiting for a sign – any hesitation or faltering in my words that may prove I don't really mean what I say. But I do, and she won't._

" _It sounds like she needed you," she finally whispers through the darkness._

 _I place my left arm behind my head, propping myself up enough so that I can fully look over at her. My right hand takes hers, and I begin to lightly trace her knuckles with my fingers. "How do you figure that?"_

 _She shrugs. "Sometimes leaving is the harder thing to do – especially if it means never again seeing the people you love the most."_

" _She could have fought for custody."_

 _Elena smiles and shakes her head at me. "You of all people should know the odds of ever winning that case."_

 _I shrug, moving my eyes upward to avoid her solemn gaze. "Maybe," I agree. "But, I guess, at the end of the day, I just wanted her to fight for her own happiness…. I wanted her to care enough to fight for us."_

 _Elena nods, seeming to understand, before finally laying back down. Only this time, she nestles her head against my shoulder, leaning her forehead against the bottom of my jawline while laying her right arm across my chest. The contact is comforting and welcoming. I again wrap my arms around her and press a light kiss to her forehead, thankful that she's here._

" _Maybe she was fighting for you," she says softly through the darkness. "Maybe she still is."_

"Damon?"

I turn my head as the fragile voice of my mother pulls me away from my thoughts. I take note of how thin and worn down she looks as she sits across the conference table from me, watching and waiting for my answer. It's been a month now since my father's funeral and we are still in the process of dealing with the aftermath.

"Yes, I'm ready," I finally answer to both Lily and Aiden, the leader of the Trusts and Estates Group at Salvatore and Associates.

Even though I could do his job in my sleep, the law states that we are required to have him as the executer of my father's will immediately following the completion of the probate process. It would all be fine and well, except Aiden is an excessively cheery, incompetent moron, and I have the daily urge to strangle him with his daisy-yellow ties.

But I refrain.

Everyone is here. Rose sits at my left-hand side holding my hand, my mother sits across from me, and Stefan and Caroline sit next to her. Several of my Father's board members, financial advisors, stock traders and lifetime associates are here. I guess it's official; money really does buy loyalty – especially when it means a big fat financial payoff in the end.

"Being of sound mind and in the presence of witnesses, I, Giuseppe Salvatore, bequeath my estate as follows:"

Aiden begins to read all the standard bullshit that goes along with a will – the paying off of debts, funeral costs, property taxes, and other personal or business related matters – before finally proceeding onward to what everyone around me has so greedily gathered here for.

My mother looks down at her hands linked together on the table before her, and for the first time in a long while, I have the strangest urge to reach out and take them in mine. It's suddenly occurred to me what fears and doubts are probably racing through her mind right now. What if the bastard left her nothing? What if he leaves everything to the mistress we've all silently known about for years, but have never been fully successful at proving? As much as I've resented Lily over the years, I can't bear to watch her face that kind of heartbreak and humiliation.

"To my beautiful wife, Lily," Aiden continues. Too late. "I have no doubt you're probably sitting there, nervously looking down at your hands as you wonder what in the hell I could possibly ever leave you that would make up for all of the pain, suffering and torment I've put you through over the years, and the answer to that is nothing. There is absolutely nothing I can do to make it up to you, and for that I am terribly sorry. But I hope you will allow me to try as I leave you with my savings of $45 million dollars, and with both our properties in Paris and Manhattan and all of their contents. I hope you will find both peace and comfort in knowing that you are now finally free of me."

We all sit in silence, staring at my mother in shock as we try to take in my father's written words. She looks stunned, but has still yet to move her eyes away from her hands, which now tremble. We are left with little time to process as he continues on.

"To my beloved sons, Damon and Stefan Salvatore," I hold my breath, preparing for the worst; "I leave equal shares, ownership and partnership in Salvatore and Associates, in addition to $25 million each. May you love each other, take care of each other, and treat each other with far more respect than you ever received from me." Aiden pauses, giving us a moment to process. "Stefan, your soul is kind and pure – don't let the world take it away. Damon," I feel the hesitation in his words just as if my father were really speaking, "I know I never said it out loud, but I _am_ proud of you. Just do what makes you happy."

I look over at my brother, unsure if I've just heard Aiden correctly. Stefan, who seems to have tears forming behind his eyes, nods and attempts to smile. It's as if now, after all these years, he can finally prove me wrong – my father _did_ care. In his own selfish, roundabout ways…he actually cared.

I feel Rose's left hand squeeze mine and her other come up to lovingly brush the back of my neck, but the shock and confusion still linger. Once again, I want to question Aiden, or at least have him repeat the statement, but there is no time. He continues on.

"To my beautiful daughter-in-law, Caroline Forbes," she suddenly looks up, appearing daunted and surprised at having just been mentioned; "I leave my properties in Vail and London and all of their content, in addition to $15 million dollars. Please use them freely and often, hopefully to procure Lily future grandchildren, or as just an escape for when life as a Salvatore becomes too much." Everyone in the room smiles at her. She nods in agreement, following Stefan's lead as the tears begin to well up in her eyes. "But above all else, please take care of Stefan. You are as he says: the best thing to have ever happened to him."

I can't help but nod in agreement towards Caroline's direction. She's only been apart of our family for a few years now, and even though we've already had our fair share of disagreements, it's hard to imagine life without my quirky, eccentric sister-in-law. And at the end of the day, I know Stefan is happy, and that's all I've ever really wanted for my brother. It's just somewhat bizarre and uncanny to hear my father acknowledge it as well.

I think that we are just about finished. I am prepared to listen to Aiden continue on with the formalities of announcing the fine, nitty-gritty details of my father's will to the board and chief financial advisors. But instead, I am surprised as he continues on with one more reading from the third clause.

"To the woman who changed my son's life for the better," we all pause. I immediately look over at Rose, who's both shocked and smiling in humble excitement at the possibility of being included. I, however, am surprised. It's not like the man - who once demanded we sign a very extensive prenup – to leave anything behind to a woman who is not yet an official Salvatore.

"To Elena Gilbert, I leave $15 million dollars and my property at Beckenham Drive in South Carolina, with the hope that you will continue to make the world a better place, and that one day, you may even find your way back to my son."

My jaw hits the floor and I almost choke on the air within my lungs. I feel Rose's hand fall out of mine. I look around the room, unsure if I've just heard him correctly, but the stunned expression on my family's face confirms that I have.

Aiden, un-noticing, continues to read on, but I stop him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," I almost shout. "Back up. I don't think I heard you correctly. It almost sounded like you just said Elena _Gilbert_?"

Aiden looks up from the document and nods at me. "Yes. Elena Gilbert." He eyes me suspiciously. "Is there a problem?"

I huff, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Ugh, yeah. A big one."

"What my brother is trying to say," Stefan quickly intervenes, leaning forward, "is that Elena Gilbert is no longer apart of my brother's life. Surely, the version of my father's will you are reading is out of date?"

Aiden looks back down and flips through the document, looking for the signed and dated page. "No," he shakes his head before turning it around to where we can all clearly see it for ourselves. "It was most recently signed and amended on November 12th. It's only a few months old."

I stare at it in disbelief, as does Stefan. I feel Rose suddenly push her chair back. "Excuse me," she says softly as she stands and then quickly departs the room. I want to chase after her, but the shock and disbelief currently racing throughout my body seems to have incapacitated my ability to move.

For the second time this month, I am speechless and unsure of how to feel.

Elena Gilbert.

The words sounds like both poison and honey on my lips. It's crazy how just the mention of her name can make my heart feel like it's racing out of my chest.

I am angry – angry that my father would choose such an inappropriate time to finally tell me his true thoughts regarding my time spent with Elena. I am confused – confused how a woman he'd never even met, a woman he'd damn well made a point to tell me had nearly ruined my life, could be the recipient of so much of my father's kindness and generosity. Was I missing something?

"There must be some mistake," I finally say. "Elena Gilbert is _gone_! Nowhere to be found! She has no ties to the Salvatore family and cannot possibly be a recipient in my father's will! He hated her!"

"Damon," my mother speaks softly, attempting to calm me down. Her blue-gray eyes are filled with nervousness as they watch me. She sits up a little straighter as she tucks a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear. "That's not entirely true."

I stare at her. The air seems to have become thinner as I realize I am barely breathing, just waiting for her to continue. I am waiting for her to divulge the secret she has so obviously been keeping from me.

"Damon," she says again, hesitant to release her next words, "Your father and I have kept in touch with Elena. She's in New York."

* * *

 **Eleven Miles and Forty-Five Minutes Away:**

I hate white walls.

They literally taunt me, reminding me of hospitals and barely-lived-in dorm rooms.

I lie on the rug that covers the hardwood floors of our two-bedroom, two-story loft. My feet are propped up on the couch and my arms are crossed behind my head, allowing me to stare up at the blank canvas that is currently fencing me in as I attempt to uncover it's hidden potential.

I like the floor. I do my best thinking here.

 _Nothing is as it has been  
And I miss your face like hell_  
 _And I guess it's just as well_  
 _But I miss your face like hell*_

The record spins while I think. I am lost in the music that fills up the room and the ideas that cloud my judgment.

The sunlight streams in from the high-ceiling windows, illuminating our industrial loft in Bushwick, Brooklyn, the place I have called my home for the past several months.

It is located on the top floor of a converted sweater factory and has neighbors that smell like cats and rooms so tiny you often forget you're not in a cubicle.

But that's okay. I didn't come here for the real estate. Besides, it has an amazing rooftop view, is in close proximity to all of my favorite studios and galleries, and is only an L train hop away from the city. So I suppose, all in all, I'm pretty content.

But these walls…

I finally stand, knowing what needs to be done. I push the couch out of the way and begin to relocate all the rest of the furniture that's within close proximity of the chaos I know I'm about to create. I throw a drop cloth down on the floor, cover the furniture, and quickly apply a thin strip of blue painters tape around the edges of the baseboards.

Normally I wouldn't be so meticulous, but Bonnie's surely going to kill me as it is.

I begin to open all the cans of paint I purchased this afternoon. I couldn't decide on a color then, and I certainly can't now, so ultimately I figure it's probably best to just not decide. I find my brush, step closer to the wall, and begin to submerge it into the green paint.

Wait. Just one more thing.

I sit the brush down and make my way over to the record player across the room. I take off the record that's currently spinning, file it away, and remove another from the small crate below it. My collection is nowhere near what it used to be…but I can't think about that right now.

As the music of the Black Keys begins to blare throughout the room, I nod my head in satisfaction.

 _I must admit,  
I can't explain_  
 _Any of these thoughts racing through my brain*_

I've never thrown paint before, but something about slinging the different colors of green, orange, red, blue, yellow, and black against the wall feels really, _really_ good. I am in the zone and lost in my own head, scattering the colors in a perfectly tangled harmony.

Thirty minutes later, my old white t-shirt and raggedy jeans are completely covered in paint, as is the wall. I take a step back, hands on my hips, admiring my artwork. I like it – but it needs more.

I continue on my mission, determined to cover the wall with as many colors as I can in an effort to eliminate every trace of the previously dull and depressing white surface.

At least, that is what I tell myself I'm doing. I have to convince myself that it's just the wall that has me feeling this way - not the CNN news report or the sudden, unexpected appearance of his blue eyes flashing across my TV screen.

(Voice of News Anchor) "Reporting to you live in front of Salvatore and Associates, where a crowd of people have anxiously gathered in anticipation for the public announcement of CEO and primary shareholder, Giuseppe Salvatore's Last Will and Testament. A lot is at stake for the shareholders and investors in this firm, as well as their clients. We are being told that the Salvatore family is currently inside and will be making a brief statement this afternoon,"

I click it off, almost immediately as soon as his picture flashes across the television screen. That was nearly an hour ago and my hands are still trembling. I needed a distraction, but the record I put on shortly afterwards only made it worse.

Maybe I selected it on purpose. I tend to be good at finding self-destructive tendencies.

I sat in the floor for hours, thinking of him; thinking of the records and the memories I left behind; thinking of all the reasons I had to leave and why I couldn't go back. I think of the moment I first met him – the moment everything changed.

" _I truly believe that there is nothing in this world that can't be fixed by a Stacey Kent song."_

 _He smiles, but continues to look down at the mess of paperwork that covers his table. "You don't know my father."_

" _No, but I know jazz – and this is a damn good song," I smile, standing above him, coffee pot in hand. I've been waiting on his table for nearly an hour now. What started out as a table for two, quickly turned into one, as his client stormed off in outrage approximately twenty minutes ago._

 _He chuckles and finally sits back in his chair. There is defeat in his blue eyes as he begins to run a worried hand through his jet-black hair. Fuck. He is gorgeous._

" _I think I may have just lost a six-million dollar account," he sighs, almost as though it's humorous._

 _I grit my teeth and nod my head. "Yeah, okay. Screw the coffee. I'll go get the bourbon."_

 _I turn to leave, but I feel his hand reach out and grab my wrist, forcing me to stay. "Sit with me?"_

And I did. I sat – despite the annoyed looks from my customers and fellow waitstaff - I sat with him. For hours and hours, we became immersed in each other's company. From the _"I'm Damon,"_ to the _"I'm Elena,"_ handshake, to the closing of the doors at Blu's to my extended invitation of, _"I have to be somewhere tonight – do you want to come?"_

I remember that evening well. It was the first time I felt drawn to him; the first time I secretly wondered if he could be the key to finding everything I always thought I never wanted.

" _How old are you?" he mocks as I lead him into the Mezz, Charleston's premiere Jazz bar. Smooth sounds of the piano and saxophone fill the air._

 _I'm sure he feels as though he's stepped back in time to some 1920s film, but to me, it feels like home. I love the ambiance in here. Besides, I made a promise to a friend, and this promise I intend keep._

 _He looks sexy as hell in his white-collar shirt and black tie that hangs with sophistication around his neck – both of which I'm sure cost more than my very simple black cocktail dress. I never question my appearance, but something about his smoldering gaze and the way he is currently looking at me, has me suddenly questioning everything._

" _So you're a jazz lover?" He grins, as we take our seats and the waiter pours us each a glass of wine._

" _No," I correct. "I am a music lover. I am an appreciator of all things that require heart and creativity. I am in love with the feeling of a good song and lyrics that say words better than I'll ever be able to. I'm also a lover of good company," I raise my glass to him. He smiles and does the same._

 _I suppose this is the part where, normally, I would begin to ask him questions about himself and then expect him to ask me the same. I suspect that most might consider this a date, or at least part of the courtship process, but I don't._

 _No, he is just the handsome stranger whom I met this afternoon and whom I have chosen to share this particular moment with. I know that tomorrow, he will go about his own way – probably back to New York – and I will go about mine; never to see each other again; never to expect anything more from one another. And I suppose, that's probably the way it should be._

 _The band, including one of my dearest friends, finally enters and takes the stage. She is dressed in a beautiful white gown, pearls around her neck and white flowers pinned in her hair – a look that only someone with as much soul as Bonnie Bennett could get away with. She looks beautiful._

 _Though we spent much of our childhood and adolescent years together, I haven't seen her in ages. She and my brother fell in love, and shortly after, began travelling the world together. They are both just as nomadic as I am; only my brother's art and Bonnie's music career actually leave them with the means to support the lifestyle._

 _I can't complain though. I'm happy for them and content where I am._

 _The quaint audience applauds in anticipation as they strike up their first song. My eyes never leave the stage, but I can feel Damon watching me. My face feels heated from his intense gaze, but I don't want to give in. I am here for Bonnie. We smile brightly at one another, acknowledging each other's presence and appreciating a rare moment in which we are once again in the same location._

" _Dance with me."_

 _I suddenly look over at him, unsure if I just heard him correctly over the music, but am reassured when he extends his hand to me. I look at it curiously._

" _You dance?" I jab._

" _Well I guess we'll find out, won't we?" He grins._

 _God, he has me in the palm of his hands with that grin. Unable to resist, I take his hand and allow him to lead me to the dance floor._

 _There are already several people around us, but as Damon's hand finds the small of my back and his other takes my hand, I don't notice them._

 _(Singing) "How glad the many millions of Timothys and Williams  
Would be to capture me_  
 _But you had such persistence,_  
 _You wore down my resistance_  
 _I fell, and it was swell…*_

 _It's a strange feeling, to fall for someone without really knowing them. But that was what was happening to me._

 _And as we dance to the sounds of a song I have heard a million times over, sung by one of my closest friends, in the heart of a city I have grown to love, I take in the moment; A moment of falling for a stranger - this beautiful, blue-eyed, mesmerizing stranger._

 _As the song grows to a close, and as the last line sounds sweetly through the room, "I've got a crush, my baby, on you," I find myself moving my chin away from Damon's shoulder and closer to his face._

 _I don't kiss strangers, but I think perhaps, maybe tonight, I will._

I stare at the blue paint on the wall, wondering what he is doing now; silently wondering how he's doing in the midst of the chaos I know currently surrounds him.

Just as I'm about to complete my mismatched-masterpiece, I suddenly hear the screeching sound of the needle being drug across my record until the music come to a sudden halt.

I turn around, only to see the draw-dropping, stunned expression on Bonnie Bennett's face.

"What. The. Hell….?" She slowly enters the room, examining my newest project.

I scrunch up my face, slightly nervous by my best friends reaction. " _Surprise_?" I smirk, attempting to hide behind my paintbrush in a playful manner.

She steps closer to the wall, studying the crazy concoction of colors I have just scattered across it. At her silence, I am officially nervous, and quickly begin preparing the apology speech I know she'll need to hear, when all of a sudden she begins to laugh.

It is such a sweet sound – I haven't heard her laugh in what feels like ages. I'm sure she's thought the same about me, but I've always known that her pain is different than mine.

She continues to laugh hysterically, until she is placing her right hand on my shoulder in an attempt to hold herself up and not fall over. I begin to laugh with her. I move in to hug her, but she pushes me away. "You're a mess!" She laughs.

"Uh-huh, nope! You're not getting off that easy!" I quickly pull her against me, causing the entire mix of colors that currently covers my skin to wash over onto her. She shrieks and tries to back away.

Finally escaping, she quickly picks up a nearby paintbrush that is covered in yellow and swings it at me. I squeal as it splatters me from head to toe. This only makes her laugh more. I quickly pick up the blue brush in retaliation, but she runs. "No! Elena!" She warns, shrieking through laughs, as she attempts to arm herself with the red brush, holding it high above her head threateningly.

After a few moments, we are in a full-blown paint fight. The wall is no longer the only thing covered in paint as the various colors begin to fly across the room – directed at one another, but seemingly landing on various items throughout our messy loft.

Just as I reload my blue brush and attempt to run to the other side of the room before she can get me again, I feel something crunch under my feet. It's the TV remote.

Against my will and despite my best efforts, the TV turns itself back on. It's easy to ignore, until suddenly, the words of the news anchor make it impossible.

(TV Anchor) "And there you have it folks. A lot of satisfaction and a lot of confusion here today at Salvatore and Associates upon the reading of Giuseppe's will. But I think the most pressing and urgent question here on everybody's mind is, who is Elena Gilbert and what is her connection to the Salvatore Estate?"

The room is silent.

The brush falls out of my hand as I stare at the TV.

I have no idea what I just heard, but there is absolutely no way it was my name. I still have paint in my ears, so surely it was a misunderstanding on my part, right?

I feel Bonnie move to stand beside me, her eyes glued to the TV and her mouth agape. "Did he just say…?"

I am frozen in place, unable to respond. My heart is racing and my head spinning. I suddenly feel sick. The next thing I know, my legs are giving out and I am falling to the ground, his face the last thing I see before I pass out.

* * *

 **Eeek! The next chapter has me so excited! I hope you'll stick with me. Thanks again for all of the follows and reviews! xx**

 **Songs Used For This Chapter:  
** Looking For You Again – Matthew Perryman Jones  
Rivers and Roads – The Head and the Heart  
Howlin' For You – The Black Keys  
I've Got a Crush On You – Stacey Kent


	4. Atlantis

**It's official - you guys are absolutely amazing! I am stunned, speechless and completely humbled that so many of you are enjoying this story as much as I am. I honestly can not thank you enough for all of your kind words, reviews, tweets, and assistance in promoting this story - but I'm going to try. So, THANK YOU!**

 **This is my longest chapter to date. I enjoyed writing it so much that I actually had to _make_ myself stop in order to save something important for chapter 5 (please don't kill me when you make it to the end and see what that something is). We still have such a long ways to go and I absolutely cannot wait to continue along this journey with all of you. Thanks SO MUCH again! Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Atlantis  
** _Losing everything I've ever known_  
 _It's all become too much, maybe I'm not built for love_  
 _If I knew that I could reach you, I would go_  
\- Seafret **  
**

* * *

"It's complicated, Damon."

"Complicated," I chuckle sarcastically, running a hand through my hair as I continuing to pace back and forth in my office. " _Complicated_!" I repeat, this time shouting at her through gritted teeth. "Well I'll tell you what, how about you start un-complicating things real quick before you find yourself answering to people who are a lot less forgiving than me!"

"Damon," my brother intervenes, placing a hand on my chest in an effort to keep me back from Lily. "Calm down."

"Get off of me, Stefan!" I push him back. I don't mean to take my aggression out on him, but I'm also in no mood to be tested or told I need to calm the fuck down. My rage is justified. "She has been _lying_ to me for over a year, Stefan! A _year_!"

"Hey!" Caroline jumps away from the desk she's currently leaning upon to step in between us. "It's not his fault, okay? If everyone will just chill for two seconds, I'm sure that there is a very good and very _rational_ explanation for everything." She talks with her hands as she turns away from my glare to face my mother. "Right?"

All three of us stare at her - Stefan and Caroline calm and collected, me seething - waiting for her to say something, _anything_ that will justify her betrayal and treachery.

She stands across the room from us, her hands linked together as she looks down at the floor. Her inability to look at me only fuels my rage further. I can see she is struggling to find the right words, but I am beginning to lose my patience.

Just as she finally opens her mouth to speak, there is a knock on the door. Without being prompted to come in, Aiden's head suddenly appears inside my office. "I know you're all still processing, and I hate to rush, but I've got a line of press members outside still waiting to hear your statement."

Lily nods in compliance and attempts to make her way towards the door, but I intercede. "Uh-huh! We are nowhere _near_ finished here," I look down at her in loathing before turning towards Aiden. "Tell them they can go fuck themselves. This is a family matter." He looks shocked but continues to linger in the doorway. "I'm sorry, did you not hear me? Get out!" I roar. He jumps slightly before finally backing away and closing the door behind him.

My mother looks up at me in anger and disappointment. I can already see the lecture forming behind her eyes, but intuitively, she makes the wise choice and refrains. She slowly turns away from me and makes her way over to the large window that overlooks the city. We all watch her as she silently gazes out at it for several moments.

"I couldn't tell you anything, Damon," she says softly, unable to acknowledging me. "She made me promise."

My heart is racing. I need to know everything. I need her to hurry up and spit it all out – but as Stefan and Caroline both watch me nervously – I remain silent, attempting to regain control of my temper.

"I wanted to tell you…so many times." She finally turns away from the window and looks at me. "But I couldn't…and I still can't."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Can't? Or _won't_?"

She swallows thickly. "Won't."

I'm about to start shouting again, but this time, it's Caroline who speaks up. "Mrs. Salvatore," she says softly, stepping towards her, "If I may, I just think that – with everything that's going on – it might be helpful for all of us to have a little bit of clarity here." She smiles sweetly as she takes my mother's hand. "Now, I know you're going through a lot, and I know that Damon and Elena once loved each other - and I respect that - but…I have a dear friend at home who's just left this building in tears. Not to mention, your sons are about to be asked a lot of pretty intense questions that they may or may not be able to answer. I know that you're just trying to honor your promise," she smiles sweetly, "but unless this is a matter of life or death…. I just really think that Damon has a right to know."

I want to thank her, but I'm currently too consumed with rage to dwell on any other emotion. Lily attempts a smile at Caroline, but it quickly turns into a frown. She drops her hand and steps around her, slowly making her way towards me.

"I was worried about you," she says, raising her hand to gently touch my cheek as she approaches me. I fight the urge to not pull away. "I contacted Elena shortly after you got back – I'm sorry to have interfered – it's just that…. I wanted to understand; I wanted to make sense of what had happened. You were just so…" she falters, "heartbroken."

I have to pull away now. Her touch paired with the pity in her eyes is just too much. "That wasn't your call to make." I glare at her before turning away. I find myself pacing again. "How the hell'd you find her anyway? Elena didn't _want_ to be found! Trust me, I fucking tried!" I feel my emotion getting the better of me. I take a deep breath in order to reel it back in and keep it contained.

"Your father was a powerful man," she shrugs. "He had his ways."

"Unbelievable." I shake my head, furious that my father was also involved in such a scheme. "So what then? You just hunted her down? Thought you'd just track down a woman who didn't want to be found, convince her to come back to a man she didn't want to be with, and then when that didn't work, stay in touch so that you could leave her _15 million dollars_ to convince her otherwise?" I shout, my voice now filling up the entire room and surely carrying outside.

"It's not like that," she says softly, despite my tone. "Damon, when I found out why she had left you…" she stops, as if she's said too much. "It's complicated."

"Yeah," I huff, shaking my head in disbelief. " _Complicated_. So you've said."

I'm angry and confused, frustrated and, dare I say it, even hurt. I've spent my entire life struggling to make sense of my mother – trying to understand her, trying to reconcile and forgive her, trying to love her.

We've had our ups and downs, and our moments of hopelessness and unexpected recovery…but this…. this takes the cake. I am absolutely certain that there can be no recovery from this.

As she watches me, I see the confliction in her eyes. Despite my best efforts to conceal my thoughts, she can read me like a book – in a way that only mother's can I suppose – and I hate it. Her eyes are filled with doubt and sadness, but nonetheless, she doesn't say another word. This is what hurts the most.

"Unbelievable," I sigh, finally turning away from her. I am out of words. I no longer have the strength to argue or the energy to conspire ways to hurt her.

As I turn to leave and attempt to muster up the will to carry on with the rest of this God-forsaken day, I hear her speak, forcing me to pause as my hand still lingers on the doorknob.

"Damon, wait." I close my eyes and let out a long, deep breath, before turning back to face her one more time. When I do, I see her rushing across the room to my desk, frantically scrambling to locate a pen and a piece of paper. When she does, I watch as she begins to write something down.

I wait, feeling emotionally drained and beyond aggravated, until she is making her way back over to me. She clings to the piece of paper with both of her hands and holds it against her heart, as though uncertain of whether or not she wants to give it to me; uncertain of whether or not she is about to make a great mistake.

"Damon, I can't tell you anything because… I think… you need to hear it from her." She suddenly extends the piece of paper in my direction. "It's Elena's address…. If you want it."

I look down at it.

My heart, despite my best effort, has suddenly begun to beat rapidly again. I feel Caroline and Stefan watching me, nervously awaiting and anticipating my next move. I look up at my mother; her eyes filled with the upmost sincerity and desperation to give me the answers I seek.

But it's not that simple and I know better.

I know that the numbers and letters on that piece of paper will not bring me the clarity I seek or the answers I need. I know that the years of resentment and betrayal between my mother and I cannot be so simply erased by such a small act. I know that absolutely no good can come from contacting Elena - the woman I'd long since believed to be a long-lost memory and whose words still continue to haunt me - try as I might to shut them out.

I know better, and yet, it doesn't stop me.

I am not in control of my own actions as my hand betrays me and rises up to take the piece of paper out of her hand. She gives me a small smile in nervous satisfaction, but I am unable to return it. As she steps around me and exits the room, I cannot help but contemplate whether or not this will be the best or worst thing my mother has ever done for me.

* * *

 **Three Hours Later**

"When will you be back?"

I lean against the doorframe of our master bedroom, arms crossed, watching as she frantically rushes back and forth between the closet and the bed. Her suitcase is laid out across it and her clothes scatter every remaining inch of the king size mattress.

"Two weeks. Maybe longer," she says flatly as she begins to fold her sweaters and neatly pack them away.

"Maybe I should come with you," I offer, hesitant to push her.

"No. It's just work stuff. You'd be miserable." Though she's attempting to mask it, there is resentment in her tone. I know she is still hurt and angry, but coming home to find her packing was the last thing I'd expected.

"So…they _just_ called you? Out of the blue?" I counter, not buying her story. Her practice in London knows how important her research is here in New York – which is why all of her patients and job duties were reassigned accordingly months ago. They'd never call her unless it was an absolute emergency.

"Yup," she nods, continuing to pack. "I have a patient who needs me."

I nod, not knowing what to say or how best to challenge the 'patient' card. I don't want her to go – especially not now when I feel like my entire world is slowly crumbling down, my career is a public mess and the address of my ex-girlfriend is currently lingering in my pocket, taunting me.

No, now is definitely not a good time for me to be left alone.

"Rose," I plead, taking a step towards her. "I'm sorry. You have to believe me, I had no idea that was going to happen." She continues to pack, refusing to look at me. I gently take hold of her arms, forcing her to stop, but she still avoids my gaze. "Rose," I try again. "Please...tell me. What can I do? You know that Elena is no longer a part of my life. I can't help what my father did, but I can promise you that it doesn't mean anything to me, okay? You have to believe that."

I feel the piece of paper in my pocket calling me a liar, but I ignore it.

She finally looks at me, allowing me for the first time to see the tears that are forming behind her eyes. "It's not your father, Damon," she says softly as a tear slowly falls down her cheek. "It's you."

I gently brush the tear away with my thumb, not understanding. I know I've been sort of distant and distracted lately, but how else am I supposed to be? It's not as though the past few weeks have been all rainbows and butterflies. Between dealing with the funeral, the press and the insanity of my father's Will, I feel like I'm being pulled in a thousand different directions and about to lose my damn mind. Surely she can understand that?

"I know you've been going through a hard time. I get that," she nods, pulling away from me. "I've been trying to be patient and supportive of you during these last few weeks, because I know how hard this all is on you. And Damon," she takes hold of my hand, "I really am _so_ sorry about your dad."

"Rose, you don't have,"

"But I can't just sit here and pretend that I'm okay with everything either," she turns away from me to resume packing. "I know it's not your fault that your father included Elena in his Will – and I'm _not_ jealous," she points her finger at me threateningly. "But it _is_ your fault in the way you've been letting her effect you."

I shake my head, confused by what the hell she means.

"I see the way you get anytime someone mentions her." She stops packing again to look at me; tears are once again in her eyes. "I feel the way you tense up, the way your entire demeanor changes at the sound of her name."

"Rose, I,"

"Damon, you left me alone with your family at our _engagement_ dinner!" she shouts.

And there it is. Finally. The fight I know she's been longing to have, but been unable to bring up in light of everything that's happened.

"Is that what this is about? Rose, I told you I'm sorry! Giuseppe just had me so riled up that night that I couldn't see straight. I had to get out of there!"

"This isn't about Giuseppe, Damon! It's about you!" Her voice begins to rise, "It's about you leaving because he brought up _Elena_! It's about you not even being able to respond to the toast I gave, or say I love you _back_ because you were too stuck dwelling on your past with _her_!"

I gawk at her, feeling speechless. "What do you want me to say?" I finally shout back. "That listening to my father and his impertinent friends berate me and mock my past _doesn't_ get under my skin? That having Elena thrown in my face every five minutes doesn't get to me? Because I can't! I can't lie to you and say that being reminded of her, and all of my other past failures and mistakes on a daily basis doesn't get to me! And then, only to find out a few weeks later that my father left 'said mistake' fifteen _million_ dollars! Do you think any of that is _easy_ for me?"

"And what about me, Damon? Huh? Sitting at your right-hand side, defending you, as your family and friends constantly compare me to her? Do you think it's easy for _me_ to see that look in your eyes or feel your pulse begin to race _every_ time someone mentions her name? I'm not Elena, Damon! And I'm never going to be – so you need to decide if that 'mistake' is really something you're ready to let go of or not."

I shake my head, unsure of what to say. I want to reassure her, comfort her; say anything that will make her believe that _she_ is the person I want – not Elena. But I am at a loss, left speechless and clueless as to what I could possibly say to make her feel better.

Rose finishes throwing the last of her boots, heels, clothing and toiletries into her suitcase, before zipping it closed. She wipes a tear from her cheek as she finally turns to face me again. "I know that none of this has been easy for you – I've known since the moment I met you."

"Rose," I move in and gently touch her cheek, "I'm sorry, okay? You don't have to go. I promise, everything between me and Elena is over. You know that! Even everything with my father…. it's all over, okay?" I move in to place a light kiss on her forehead, but at this moment, my cellphone begins to buzz and she pulls away.

I groan in frustration, hesitant to release her, but knowing it could be important. When I see Stefan's name flash across the screen, I immediately send it to voicemail, but then quickly take note of the five new text messages in my inbox – most of them from him:

 _"Where are you?"_  
 _"What are you going to do?"_  
 _"Please don't do anything stupid."_  
 _"I'm coming over."_

Followed by one from Ric that reads: _"Holy Shit! Just saw the news! Let's grab drinks in an hour. I convinced Jo to meet us!"_ followed by two winking emoticons.

I roll my eyes. Great.

"I'll be back in two weeks," she assures, stepping around me and making her way towards the front door, dragging her suitcase behind her. I can hear the aggravation in her tone from me checking my phone.

"Rose," I plead again, chasing after her.

"I'm giving you time, Damon. Time to sort everything out at work and to get your dad's affairs in order, time to get past this unforeseen… _circumstance_ with Elena, and time to really figure out if _this_ ," she pauses before indicating to herself and then to me, "is really what you want."

"Of course it is!" I defend, aggravated that nothing I say seems to be making a difference.

She opens up the front door, but continues to linger in the doorway for a moment longer before finally turning back to look at me. "I hope so," she smiles softly, gently touching my face with her hand. "I hope that when I get back, we can continue planning our wedding and just move on from all of this…. I hope that someday, this will all just be some stupid memory we can laugh about…. But Damon," she hesitates, attempting to keep her tears at bay, "If we're ever going to do that, you have to promise me, you'll let her go."

She doesn't give me time to respond. The next thing I know, I'm watching my fiancé walk out the door, suitcase in hand, packed and prepared to put as much distance between us and the rest of New York as possible. Her two-week deadline hangs over my head like a ticking time bomb, threatening me to get my shit together or else find myself without her forever.

As the door closes and I am left with the bitter silence that remains, I once again find myself wondering whether or not I should chase after her. I know it's the right thing to do. I know I owe it to her. I know she deserves my undivided attention and respect, and above all else, proof that I'm willing to fight for her.

But words and thoughts escape me and I cannot explain why my feet suddenly feel as though they're plastered in concrete.

Despite my best efforts and attempts, I remain frozen in place, unable to chase after her.

* * *

 **Later That Evening**

He's nearly an hour late.

I look down at my watch, noting the hand that reads fifteen minutes 'til nine. Ric said he'd be here with Jo at eight - so much for his worried concern.

I tap my fingers impatiently on the wooden bar as I wait and sip my bourbon, perhaps a little more quickly than I should.

"Another round?" asks the slick-haired bartender.

I nod and slide him my glass, which he quickly refills and slides back down to me. I nod in appreciation and take another sip.

It's quiet in the Law Room tonight, which I suppose, is exactly why we keep coming back. Its speakeasy, prohibition vibe suites us well, and its semi-secret entrance under the stairwell helps keep out all of the unwanted riffraff – most notably the press. I suppose it's why time and time again I find myself, or rather my driver, making the 25-minute drive downtown to the flatiron district.

I've been watching the flight schedules on my phone all evening, wondering which one is currently carrying Rose back across the Atlantic. Her words play on loop in my mind, "promise me, you'll let her go…", over and over again until I'm running a hand through my hair, worn down from the resonating sound.

I know she's right. I have to let Elena go.

For the first time, I reach into my pocket and pull out the piece of paper that's been tormenting me since my mother gave it to me this afternoon. It's folded in half and slightly wrinkled from being inside my pocket all day. I hold my breath, knowing that if I read it, there's no going back. Even if I lose it, even if I burn it, I know I'll never be able to erase the image of the numbers and letters from my brain. Her address will forever be with me.

Just like the lyrics in her journal, I will memorize the words without even trying. They will haunt me until I am inevitably at her doorstep – which I know I can never do.

I don't know what it is about Elena, but her words always seem to stay with me, despite my best efforts to shake them. I dwell on the irony of the entry I read a few hours ago on page thirty-two, shortly following Rose's departure:

 _Look me up_  
 _When you've had your space_  
 _When you're ready_  
 _To see my face*_

I don't know how she does it. I just don't understand how it's possible. How had she known what to write down a year ago? How had she known exactly what I'd need to hear and when I'd need to hear it? Had she planned everything? Is my every move currently being strategically played and calculated, as though I'm some pawn in her giant chess game?

No. I know better…. and I suppose, that's the scary part.

Elena didn't believe in making plans. She didn't believe in manipulation, coercion or even bribery to get what she wanted. She only believed in moments, music and possibilities. She believed in exchanging ideas and stories and connecting with strangers. She believed in the promise of chance and, now that I think about it, fate. Above all things, Elena believed in fate.

" _Take a walk with me."_

 _She extends her hand to me as we exit the jazz bar after a long night of dancing and listening to old songs I've never before heard. It's sometime after midnight, but the streets are brightly lit from the glow of the lampposts that line the streets and the old gas lanterns that hang in doorways._

 _The car that we drove here in is currently parked down the street, but I don't have the heart to deny her request – especially after just watching her say a tearful goodbye to an old friend - so I take her hand._

 _We begin to walk, hand-in-hand, comfortably falling into a silent rhythm, as though we've known each other for years as opposed to just one day. We make it a little over a block before curiosity finally gets the best of me and I have to ask, "So how do you know the singer?"_

 _She smiles, "That's Bonnie. We've been friends for as long as I can remember."_

 _I nod, hoping she'll continue._

" _We don't see each other much anymore. Not unless fate intervenes and brings us back together – and somehow it always does. That's how I know we'll be friends forever."_

" _You believe in fate?" I smile, looking over at her._

 _She grins. "Of course. Don't you?"_

 _I shrug. "Not really. But today's been a day of firsts, so maybe I can be convinced."_

" _What.. you've never danced with a stranger before?" She mocks, suddenly taking my hand and lifting it high above her head until I'm obliging her unspoken request and twirling her around._

 _When the motion is finished and she is left standing in front of me, her eyes are shining and she is smiling up at me. I want to tell her that no, I have never danced with a stranger – or at least not with one in which my intensions for the evening were pure. But more than that, I want to tell her that I've never before had a reason to believe in fate – until possibly right this moment. But I refrain._

 _Instead I deflect and say, "I'm a lawyer. I believe in logic and choice…. and every choice has a consequence."_

 _She frowns. "I believe we have the ability to choose left or right, but if people are destined to meet, they will. At the end of the day, fate always wins out."_

 _I smile, admiring the confidence in her tone and the light reflecting in her eyes. It's not that I want to argue, but I'm not yet ready for her to stop talking. I find her so intriguing._

" _So this day, us meeting, my client firing me," I chuckle, though still reeling from that unexpected turn of events, "this is all fate?"_

 _She grins up at me, mischief shining in her eyes, "do you want it to be?"_

 _I think about our dance back at the jazz club; how no words could ever describe the intense, magnetic pull I'd just felt towards her as I held her in my arms; how the entire crowd had completely faded away and left only the two of us behind, leaving me to pretend I'd known her for ages and that the night would never end._

 _But then, I remember that I'm leaving in a few days. I remember my clients and my father and my life back in New York. I can't allow myself to fall for her._

" _It doesn't matter what I want," I sigh, killing the moment and causing her to take a step back from me._

 _She nods her head, seeming to understand where my thoughts lie. Her hand once again finds mine and we resume our walk. We take several steps before she speaks again._

" _I think you work too much."_

 _I chuckle, knowing that she's probably right. "Working makes me happy."_

" _Liar," she calls me out immediately. "I think you're an advanced-staged workaholic." She nods and smiles, satisfied in her diagnosis._

 _I attempt to speak, ready to argue, but come up short._

" _What do you do for fun?"_

" _I just told you," I smile, looking over at her._

" _No, I mean like, what makes you laugh?" She suddenly steps ahead of me and turns around, continuing to hold onto my hand as she walks backwards, pulling me forward. "What makes you so ridiculously happy that it could just define you?"_

 _Her grin and playful demeanor, not to mention how beautiful she currently looks in that black dress, has me wanting to search my soul and give her the deep and profound answer I know she seeks. But instead, I remain silent._

 _Not because there isn't some version of a poorly constructed, clichéd answer I could surely give her – I'm sure there is - but because, at this moment, I genuinely can't concentrate on anything else right now but her._

 _I stop, forcing her to stop with me. Hand still in mine, I step closer to her, closing the gap between us. Her bright smile has suddenly been replaced with a heated gaze, nervous breathing and anticipation. My hand finds the small of her back and I guide her backwards, slowly moving her until her back is pressed against the nearby, dimly lit lamppost. She looks up at me, her eyes revealing nervousness and longing._

 _I do not answer her question because it is far too soon to say the words I'm currently feeling out loud. But as I bring my hand up to caress her cheek before I finally kiss her, I hope that somehow, she knows._

"Whatcha got there?"

I am caught off guard at the sound of a woman's voice beside me and the sudden appearance of a hand reaching for the piece of paper in front of me. I quickly slap my hand down, preventing the address from being taken. I look over at the dark-haired, blue-eyed woman who has just taken a seat on the barstool next me.

"None of your business," I smirk sarcastically at her, annoyance in my tone.

"Oh come on now, buddy!" Smiles Ric as he takes a seat on my opposite side and roughly slaps his hand on my shoulder. "Friends share secrets…. especially when it's something as interesting as Elena's address."

I gawk at him. "How the hell'd you,"

"Stefan," he grins arrogantly. "Called and told me everything. He got worried when you wouldn't return his calls."

"I'm starving," says Josette, suddenly looking around the bar. "Do they have food here?"

"Yeah me too," chimes in Ric. "Hey!" he whistles over at the bartender, "Do you have a food menu?"

I look from Jo to Ric, taking in their disorderly appearance, ridiculous behavior and strange smell. I quickly begin to put the pieces together. "Holy shit, are you two high?"

"Shhhhh," Jo grins, putting her finger up to her lips. "It's a secret."

I shake my head in pure disbelief and turn to Ric. He shrugs and scrunches up his face in humorous confirmation of my suspicion. "Unbelievable," I chuckle, in spite of myself. "That's why you left me sitting at this damn bar for over an hour? So you could go get stoned?"

"Sorry," Ric grins. His eyes are cloudy and slightly red, making it hard for me to take him seriously. "We were going to call you but,"

"But I got in a fight with my fiancé," finishes Jo.

I huff, taking a sip from my drink. "Yeah. There seems to be a lot of that going around." Ric looks like he wants to ask, but I turn my focus back to Jo. "Haven't you two been engaged for like, I don't know, five years now?"

She rolls her eyes at me as she waves the bartender over and orders a drink.

"Sore subject?" I look over at Ric and he attempts to inconspicuously nod his head in confirmation, making me chuckle.

I honestly don't know that much about Jo - other than that she and Ric have steadily built up a friendship over the last several months at work, _and_ that they've been spending way more time together than even the most trusting of boyfriends would probably be okay with. But I don't ask and I definitely don't judge.

"I just want to have some _fun_ ," she complains, leaning her elbow against the bar to put her head in her hand. "I've spent my entire life getting good grades, and doing good deeds, and going to law school, and now, working at some firm who doesn't even know I exist," she quickly looks up at me, "No offence." I shrug, indifferent. "So why is it such a crime to finally want to do something for me, huh? Why is it such a bad thing to just want to hang out with people who make me laugh? After all, that's what life should be about, right? Being with people who make you laugh?"

I am so invested in Jo's inebriated words, so caught up in trying to decipher and interpret them – both for Ric and _my_ sake – that I don't notice Ric casually sliding the piece of paper away from me and opening it up.

"834 Bushwick Avenue #4B," he reads in amusement, forcing me to suddenly turn and face him as every other sound in the room quickly becomes irrelevant. "Holy crap! Is this really her?"

I quickly snatch it out of his hand, feeling both furious and shell-shocked. There it is. That's it. There's no going back and no way to un-hear the words or un-memorize 834 Bushwick Avenue #4B. I groan out loud and quickly bury my face in my hands. "No. No. No."

"What?" he asks, completely oblivious. "What did I say?"

"I didn't want to know!" My voice is muffled through my hands.

"Oops."

I lay my head down on the bar, silently wondering just how much alcohol I might need to consume in order to forget what I just heard.

"I don't get it. What's the big deal?" Jo pipes up, suddenly reaching forward and grabbing the piece of paper away from me. At this point, it easily slips out of my fingers as my will to fight for it seems to have completely gone out the window.

I don't have to see Ric to know that he is mouthing the words "Elena," to her.

"Oh my God!" She squeals in excitement. " _The_ Elena? The Elena we've all been hearing so much about? Holy shit! We have to go meet her!"

I'm surrounded by morons.

I feel Ric pat me on the shoulder. "Sorry, buddy. I thought you'd read it…" he hesitates. "Wait. Why the hell _hadn't_ you read it?"

I quickly raise my head and glare at him. "Do I really have to answer that question?"

He shrugs and makes his weird scrunched-up face again. "Yeah." He nods flatly. "Yeah you do."

I gawk at him, my jaw dropping in slight irritation. I look over at Josette for support, but she just shrugs and dips her hand into the bowl of peanuts that's been moved in front of her and begins to snack as though she's watching a reality TV show.

I cannot decide if these two idiots are made for each other, or if their being together is so moronic, it would completely throw off the entire universe and doom all of humanity. Either way, I'm silently rooting for them.

"I was going to burn it," I deflect.

"But you didn't," he grins, raising his glass to me.

"I was going to!" I all-but shout at him.

"But," he drags out, "you didn't."

"I can't contact Elena, Ric!" I run a hand through my hair, growing more frustrated by the minute. "I can't do that to Rose."

He is finally silent. He finally seems to have taken the hint and caught on to my pent-up irritation and inability to deal with this conversation or this ridiculous day for even another second longer. I don't mean to raise my voice at him – but I'm in no mood or state of mind to try and defend my actions. When I'd agreed to meet Ric at the bar, I'd assumed it'd be so that we could drunkenly forget about everything, not rehash it over their buzz.

"I totally understand where you're coming from, Damon," Jo finally speaks up, breaking the tension. "It would definitely be wrong of you to contact Elena and _finally_ hear her side of the story on as to why she left you and then stayed in contact with your parents for over a year – so much so that they actually left her fifteen million dollars and a _house_ ," she nods, her expression quite serious. "Yes. Definitely wrong."

I arch my eyebrow at her, watching and anticipating what the hell she's about to do as she rises from her seat, stumbling slightly in the process, and stands next to me. She places a steady hand on my shoulder in order to look me in the eye. "I completely understand if you can't contact Elena." I nod in appreciation - feeling slight relief that at least one of them agrees with me - when suddenly a huge smile spreads across her face. She slowly brings up Elena's address and begins to wave it in my face. "But I can."

The next thing I know, she takes off running out of the bar – Ric quickly following behind her. I am left stunned and speechless for a few seconds, barely having the time to process what the hell just happened. But as it sinks in what she's about to do, my adrenaline suddenly kicks in and, in a flash, I am chasing after them.

As all the patrons in the bar watch us run out - me shouting and cursing at them; Jo and Ric slipping all over the slick floor in their attempt to flee - I know that our days at the Lounge are officially over and that we will never again be allowed to show our faces here. But that's currently the least of my worries.

Jo is several paces ahead of me, and by the time I finally emerge from the underground stairwell, I hear the deafening sound of her whistling for a cab. I catch up with her and Ric just as they're diving into the backseat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shout, slightly breathless as I catch hold of the door to prevent them from leaving.

"What does it look like we're doing?" Jo grins from the far side of the cab.

"Come on! Just get in, Damon!" Ric smirks as he sits beside her. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

I hesitate and attempt to process as I stare down at their eager faces. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious; lying if I said that I hadn't dreamt of this moment for the last year – but regardless, that doesn't make it right or make me feel any less guilty. But if I'm really being honest with myself, the truth of the matter is that I just don't know if I can handle seeing her face again.

The cab driver honks his horn in annoyance before turning back to look at me over his shoulder. "Are you in or out pal?"

"Yeah, _pal_?" Ric grins.

I shake my head. I am usually impulsive and quick on my feet, but in this moment, I've never felt so torn in my life.

Ric, watching my confliction, finally speaks up one more time. "You know I've always got your back…. right?"

As I look down at my best friend - my ridiculously absurd, completely inappropriate, knows-me-better-than-anyone best friend - I know that he does.

Finally, giving in to their ridiculous idea of an adventure, I slide into the car, forcing them to squeeze together, as I shut the door behind me.

"834 Bushwick Avenue, Brooklyn!" Jo shouts at the driver, before smiling back at me in victorious satisfaction.

As we begin to drive, my heart suddenly begins to pound. I am completely unprepared for this. If I had known that when I woke up this morning, I'd be facing my father's Will, my mother's lies, and then to top it all off, the ex love of my life, I'd surely have stayed in bed.

I think of Elena – all her words and her music; her touch and her smell; the feeling of her skin against mine…. It's all flooding back and completely overwhelming me. I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling as though I am suffocating. I can't do this.

"What the hell am I doing?" I say quietly, distracting Jo and Ric from their laughing fit of a conversation. "I'll give you ten thousand dollars if you stop the car!" I shout, the words flying out of my mouth so unexpectedly that I'm not even sure they're mine.

The cab suddenly comes to a screeching halt, sending all three of us flying forward, and causing Jo to scream. Cars around us suddenly honk loudly and swerve out of the way in an effort to miss us.

"He's kidding!" Shouts Ric, attempting to laugh it off as he looks over at me with a weird what-the-hell-are-you-thinking look on his face. The driver quickly turns around and gives me a death glare, before finally re-starting the car and continuing onward. I want to say that I am not kidding – not at all – but for whatever reason, I don't.

I am a mess for the remainder of the cab ride until finally, after a whole thirty-two minutes and forty-five dollars later, we are standing outside of the building numbered 834 on Bushwick Avenue.

As I rise up out of the cab and Jo and Ric stumble out after me, I look up at it, suddenly – for the first time all evening – feeling a touch of excitement to coincide with my racing heartbeat.

"Well don't just stand there," smiles Jo, taking the lead and stepping ahead of us. "Let's go!"

The neighborhood is quiet, so much so that I feel as though I can physically feel the sound of the squeaky gate as it opens and then the ringing of the buzzer as we reach the doorstep and press the bell beside the indicated #4B.

I can't believe I'm here, especially with these completly high, barely-functioning imbeciles, but weirdly enough…I'm also kind of grateful. Of all the scenarios and of all the moments I've pictured in my head for the moment I would finally see Elena again, this definitely wasn't one of them. But oddly enough, Jo and Ric's presence is somewhat comforting.

"Yes?" A woman's voice suddenly comes through the intercom, somewhat startling me. I don't recognize it though…

"Uh…hi, yes," I fumble. "Um, I…"

"Have a delivery," speaks up Ric suddenly. I glare at him.

"Cupcakes!" Chimes in Jo.

They both begin to laugh silently as I stare at them in bewildered astonishment.

"Um… okay," says the voice. Suddenly, there is a buzzing sound, signaling the unlocking of the door.

Jo and Alaric both smirk at me as they push their way inside. "Unbelievable," I whisper, my amusement being overridden by my nerves.

When we reach the landing of number 4B, I suddenly stop, feeling frozen, as a familiar sound seeps into the hallway and reaches my ears.

 _Ten days of perfect tunes  
The colors red and blue_  
 _We had a promise made*_

My breathing is shallow as I place my palm on the doorframe; leaning against it as I allow the song and the memory of the first time I told her I loved her, to suddenly come flooding back. The woman I once said those words to is just behind this door.

"You okay?" Ric looks at me nervously and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Come on. You can do this."

I nod my head and steadily stand upright. I take a deep breath and then, finally, knock on the door.

I don't know what I'm expecting, but I am completely caught off guard, and dare I say it, disappointed, when a familiar, yet unexpected face greets me at the door.

I stare at her – my jaw dropping slightly.

"Can I help you?" she looks at me, annoyance in her tone. "Where are the cupcakes?" She pauses to think about this… "Who the hell delivers _cupcakes_ at eleven thirty at night anyway?"

I finally place her face…. "Bonnie?" I ask. Jo and Ric are suddenly behind me, peering over my shoulder like two lost puppies.

She gawks at me for a moment, taking in my face before looking up slowly at the other two sets of eyes that are currently gazing in at her. Recognition and understanding seem to take place. "Damon?"

I nod, my breathing shallow and heart pounding. She steps back slightly, allowing me to see inside. The small loft has Elena written all over it. Everything from the spinning record and the books that scatter the coffee table, to the giant mess of colors that cover the main wall. Everything looks like her…. Everything even _smells_ like her… But she is nowhere to be found.

"I'm looking for Elena," I say through nervous breathing. Finally admitting the words out loud feels good.

She lets out a long sigh before giving me a sad smile and then leaning against the door. "She's not here."

I run a hand through my hair and take a deep breath, attempting to conceal my disappointment – unlike Jo and Alaric who take a step back and shout "damn it."

"Can you tell me where she is?" I hear the pleading in my tone. I don't want to sound desperate…. but suddenly, at the notion of being this close… I realize I am. "Please, Bonnie?"

She smiles sweetly – obviously wanting to answer but conflicted at betraying her best friend. I see the debate in her eyes as she finally says, "You _know_ where she is."

I stare at her, shaking my head in disbelief. I want to argue, I want to shout that 'No! No, I have absolutely no fucking clue where she is!' But I don't. I don't get the chance. Bonnie is slowly shutting the door as she says, "I'm sorry, Damon," in the most sincere tone she can muster.

I am left to stare at the back of the door, in a dimly lit hallway, feeling the irony of the complete and utter disappointment that surrounds me. I feel Ric touch my shoulder as he says, "I'm sorry, buddy."

I don't feel my feet move, but I know they must be, because suddenly I am once again standing on the steps of 834 Bushwick Avenue. The cold air enters my lungs, but I feel unable to breathe. I hear Ric say, "Let's go," as they both move past me and out onto the street again.

"Who's up for coffee?" Jo attempts a smile as she hails another cab for us. "Maybe pizza?"

Pizza and coffee. I laugh, not understanding why.

 _Pizza and coffee..._

The image of Elena standing in our kitchen on a Saturday morning suddenly enters my mind. I can see her as she gazes out the window above the sink, coffee in hand and leftover pizza in the microwave. She stares contently out at the ocean, humming a song I don't recognize, until I slowly approach her and rest my head on her shoulder.

 _"If I ever needed to run away, I'd come here...There's no place like it," she says softly, continuing to gaze outside. "There's no place I'd rather be."_

"Holy shit."

Jo and Ric both look at me, pausing in their efforts to climb into the newly summoned cab. "What is it?" he asks.

"I have to get to the airport."

Ric nods, not understanding, but complying nonetheless as he claps his hands and says, "Yes! Okay!"

As soon as we are all once again loaded inside and I have given my urgent orders to the driver, I quickly send a text to my dad's pilot instructing him to get the plane ready. With luck, we'll be at the airport in twenty-five minutes.

"So where are you going?" says Ric, the smirk on his face clearly indicating his approval.

I stare out the window, watching Brooklyn pass us by as I contemplate the best way to tell him that I am about to return to the place I never again thought I'd set foot in, to chase down a girl that, up until a few moments ago, I wasn't even sure I wanted to find.

"Charleston," I answer flatly. "I'm going back to Charleston."

* * *

 **I know, I know! I'm so sorry! I honestly had the entire next scene already written out, and then I had to back up and remind myself that we're only on chapter 4! Haha Such a long ways to go... stay tuned! The next ones a doozy :) Thanks for reading!**

 **Songs for this chapter:**

These Words – Jill Andrews  
Heartbeats – Jose Gonzalez


	5. Halls

**You guys are amazing! Thank you again SO MUCH for your amazing reviews and comments. I'm so sorry this chapter took a minute - it's definitely a struggle to submit weekly updates when your chapters are nearly 9000 words every time. Oops. Hope you don't mind. :)**

 **I wanted to give a special shout-out to SweetestSerenade for recommending Halls by Andrew McMahon for this chapter - I literally listened to it, along with the other three songs used in this chapter, SO MUCH over the last week that I think I might have put myself into a permanent emotional comma. But seriously - I LOVE hearing about the songs you're listening to and how they make you think of this story, so keep 'em coming!**

 **Thanks again! :)**

* * *

 **Halls  
** _I hear your music through the walls_  
 _I see your picture on the blank page_  
 _You echo in the halls_  
\- Andrew McMahon **  
**

* * *

I haven't slept.

I am completely exhausted, but ironically, wide-awake as the plane finally touches down in Charleston, South Carolina a little after 3am in the pouring rain.

Words, memories, song lyrics and Ric's departing words of "Go get her, buddy!" have all been replaying in my mind from the moment I took off, but it wasn't until we had steadily reached an altitude of 40,000 feet that my logic and rational thinking began to resurface, forcing me to question the stupidity of what I'd just done. But as the plane comes to a complete stop and the pilot welcomingly announces our arrival, I know there's no going back now.

When the door opens and I finally muster up the energy to make my way down the mobile stairway, I am surprised to be greeted by a smiling, gray-haired gentleman in a black suit, patiently awaiting me to join him on the ground as he stands under an opened umbrella.

"It's good to see you, Mr. Salvatore. Can I give you a ride?" He asks when I reach him, extending his coverage to include me.

I eye him curiously, baffled by who he is, what he's doing here and how the hell he knew to expect me. In my urgency to leave New York, I hadn't so much as packed a spare change of clothes, let alone arranged for a car pickup.

"Can I help you with your luggage?"

"Don't have any."

He smiles. "Not to worry. I'll arrange for your things to be sent over first thing in the morning. Come," he notions to the black car parked a few feet away and moves to open the door for me. I hesitate with suspicion for another moment, but whether from exhaustion or annoyance with the rain, I decide not to dwell on it and quickly find myself sliding into the backseat.

I watch as he runs around to the front, opens the driver's side door, and climbs inside. We sit in silence for a few moments as he starts the car and begins to drive us away from the airport's premises and onto the main highway towards town.

"I knew you'd be making your way back eventually," he smiles, acknowledging me through the rearview mirror. "I just hadn't expected it to be so soon – and at 3am no less," he chuckles.

"I'm sorry," I stop him, "But do I know you? How the hell'd you know I'd be here?"

"Oh, please forgive me," he laughs, "I'm Ray. I've driven for Lily a few times. She's told me a lot about you…."

I shake my head, bewildered at just how little I truly know my mother.

"Your pilot radioed in to request a car shortly after you left New York – I'm the driver and primary assistant to the Salvatore family whenever they're in Charleston. I apologize. I thought you were aware."

I stare at him in disbelief. "And just how often did those visits occur?"

He shrugs. "Once every couple of months I suppose."

I let out a long sigh and run a hand through my hair before leaning back against the seat in exhaustion. I am literally too tired to try and solve this puzzle right now. "I don't suppose they ever happened to have mentioned what exactly it was they were doing here, did they?"

"Same as you I reckon," he smiles at me through the rearview mirror again. "Beckenham Drive, right?"

I am caught off guard. I've been so distracted with memories of a small rent house on Arctic Avenue that I'd almost completely forgotten about my father's hidden estate here.

"I guess you haven't heard," I sigh, staring out the window. "That property doesn't belong to my family anymore."

"I've heard," he acknowledges softly. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Damon."

I nod my head in appreciation, but deflect. "Just take me to the nearest hotel."

"You sure? I think I have a spare key here somewhere," he taps his keychain that's currently dangling from the ignition. "The way I see it, it's still yours until it's been officially signed over."

"I'm sure," I say with certainty. I have no idea why he has a spare key to my father's estate or to what lengths his involvement with my parents extends, but at this moment, it's the very least of my concerns. Besides, the last place I want to spend the night in is a house haunted with family lies and secrets.

"The last time I saw your father was in September," he begins after a few moments of silence, "said he was here on business to meet with some client," he lets out a small chuckle. "Of course, the thought probably never occurred to him that I knew exactly who that client was. Ironically enough though, she wasn't even his client; he was hers."

I am only halfheartedly listening to Ray's ramblings; too distracted by my own thoughts and memories to care too much about his, but in an effort to be polite, I attempt to humor him. "Who was she?" I mumble as I check my phone. I have about a dozen missed calls and texts from Stefan – none from Rose.

"My wife," he chuckles again. "Best real estate agent in South Carolina!" He beams proudly. I attempt to show him a smile, but know it's probably jaded.

"Yup," he continues on. "I know it's breaking news to the rest of the world, but we've known for a long time now – Giuseppe was always planning on leaving that house to Elena Gilbert."

My head suddenly snaps back in his direction and I am leaning forward. "What do you know about Elena?"

"Not much," he shrugs casually. "Just that she used to live here for a while. I hear she suffered some family tragedy a while back, but I never asked. I only picked her up once or twice at Lily's request. Very nice girl – but I never quite got the connection. Was she a friend of your mother's?"

"Something like that," I say, attempting to shake off that familiar sense of irritation.

I am suddenly filled with a million questions and Ray has just become my number one person of interest. "Family tragedy? You mean, her parents?"

He nods. "I suppose so."

I already know this, but I can't understand how he does. "So back up – you picked up Elena? Where was she coming from? Where was she headed?"

He smiles as he looks away from the road and studies my face in the rearview. I'm sure he's reading between the lines, but I suddenly don't care. "The first time she was flying in from Philly, the second time New York. I always dropped her off at the same place – that little Bed and Breakfast on Ashley Avenue."

"Take me there," I suddenly demand, my breathing frantic.

"But what about,"

"Never mind the hotel," I say, perhaps a little bit harsher than intended.

He smiles and nods as he slowly changes lanes to stay on I-26.

"What else do you know? About Elena I mean?"

He shrugs. "I drove her to meet your mother for lunch at that café near the hospital once."

"The _hospital_? Was she okay?"

"Fine. Coincidence I think."

"Well did she ever _say_ anything? Anything significant about what she was doing here? Why they were meeting?"

"She never said too much." He thinks for a moment. "She once asked me to turn on the radio."

I sigh and run a hand through my hair, frustrated by Ray's ineptness. "Of course she did," I say barely above a whisper.

"Why so interested?" he asks sincerely.

"I just want," I hesitate. "I need to find her."

He nods and appears to be thinking back again as he turns onto Ashley Avenue. "The last time I saw her was in October – I remember because she was looking out the window, sitting exactly where you're sitting, when she said 'I wish it was July,' and I laughed and said 'How on earth could you wish it was July when October is so lovely?' and, in a way that I'll never forget, she looked at me and said, 'You know how a song can be both beautiful and devastating in equal measure? That's how I feel about October.'"

I nod as I find myself slowly leaning back against my seat again.

I replay his words until they are no longer his – but Elena's. I can almost hear her; almost see her as she sits here, staring out the window, watching our former world pass her by. I find it strange, and oddly comforting, to know that she was once here and headed towards the same destination as I am now. Yet, I can't help but feel haunted with questions and the need to understand; Why was October so devastating?

"Here we are," says Ray, as he steadily pulls to a stop in front of a large, two-story home.

I glance out the window and take in its traditional, Southern Colonial features, including the painted shutters, elevated landscaping, and six large columns that line both the upstairs and down. Judging by its structure and design, I'm certain it must have been built in the 1800s.

I feel my heart begin to race at the idea of even the _slightest_ possibility that Elena could be inside. I'm so invested in my thoughts that I barely notice as Ray comes around to open my door.

He extends to me an umbrella. "Here, take this." I nod in appreciation as I exit the car. "And this." I look down to notice that he is handing me the key off of his keychain. "Just in case."

The kind smile on his face leaves me unable to argue or deny his gesture, and though I doubt I will ever use it, I am appreciative. "Thank you."

He nods. "What time would you like for me to pick you up in the morning?"

I shake my head. "No need. I'll be fine. Thanks."

He looks concerned, as though he doesn't know how to handle this kind of rejections. "Well, just in case, here is my card. Please call if you change your mind or if you need anything at all. I'll send for your things. They should be here tomorrow afternoon."

I take his card and nod in appreciation.

As I thank him and we part ways, I feel the strongest sense of guilt. My father spent his entire life investing, saving and building an empire – one of which I am now a product – and in the process of that there have been hundreds of names and faces who have quietly worked behind the scenes, just to ensure that our lives run smoothly, Ray included.

Maybe it's because I've been having so many what-would-Elena-do? moments lately, but I quickly make a mental note to learn names and send thank you gifts when I return.

Speaking of Elena, I quickly make my way up the steps and onto the large wooden porch to ring the bell. As I wait outside in the dark, the possibility of no answer and no vacancy quickly crosses my mind. Additionally, the fact that I did not make a reservation and its now almost 4am, has me slightly concerned and wondering if I should reach for Ray's card and re-think the hotel thing.

Times like these actually make me miss the city that never sleeps.

I am reassured a few moments later, however, when a middle-aged woman with horn-rimmed glasses appears and, somewhat hesitantly, cracks open the main door. She eyes me suspiciously for a few moments, attempting to remain hidden behind the locked screen.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, yes. Hi. I don't have a reservations, but uh, I was wondering if you possibly had anything available,"

"Yes," she says flatly as she unlatches the door and swings it open. "Come in."

I hesitate for a moment, slightly shocked at her abruptness, before finally following in behind her.

"Just you?"

"Just me."

"No luggage?"

"No luggage." She studies me curiously, as though attempting to figure out what kind of a lunatic runs around checking into bed and breakfasts alone and with no luggage at 4am.

I hand her my ID, partially so that she'll stop staring at me, and partially so that we can speed up the check-in process and minimize the questions.

As she takes it and begins to enter my information into the computer, I step back and begin to take a look around. The place is certainly historical; everything from the antique furniture and flowery wallpaper, to the creaky hardwood floors and candle chandeliers feels ancient. As I take a step into the parlor, the sight of an old record player suddenly catches my eye.

"Just one night?"

Her voice pulls me back towards the counter. "For now."

She looks like she wants to roll her eyes, but refrains as she continues to work. I cross my arms over the counter and attempt to glance over, covertly searching for anything that may lead me to Elena; a guest list, a signature sheet…anything.

"Looking for something?" She glares at me.

I attempt to give her my most seductively, dazzling smile. "I don't suppose it would be at all possible for you to tell me the name of a guest that's currently staying here…. would it?"

She studies me, her green eyes continuing to judge me through her glasses. "No."

"Okay, well what if we played a game…a guessing game if you will." I continue to smile. "Would you tell me then?"

She begins to slide my ID back over to me before suddenly pointing towards the door. "Out."

"Wait, what? Okay. Calm down. There's no need for hostility. I was just asking a question."

"Out!"

I glare at her, wanting to argue, but in fear of losing a place to sleep tonight, decide against it. "Okay, look. I'm sorry, all right? It was just a joke."

She crosses her arms. "We have a strict guest privacy policy...not to mention the right to refuse service to creepy stalkers who walk around town in the middle of the night."

"First of all, not a stalker," I point out as I watch her lift her hand towards the door again.

"Second of all, do you have any idea what kind of a day I've just had? A _ny_ clue?" I run a hand through my hair in frustration, hearing the pathetic desperation in my tone. "Do you know what it's like to try and chase down a woman as ridiculously _insane_ , yet addictively…," I search for the word, "memorable… as Elena Gilbert? I'm honestly about to lose my damn mind here and you're kicking me out? Come on, it's 4am! The least you can do is help me out for one night, huh?"

I am waiting for her to call the cops or possibly toss me out herself – she looks mad enough to do it – but I am surprised, however, when she suddenly turns around and unlocks a desk drawer behind her. After a few seconds, she turns back around.

In her hands, she is holding a red guest book.

I am confused and unsure of what she wants me to do when she sets it down on the counter and begins to flip through the pages. I watch, as she seems to find what she's looking for before flipping it around to me and pointing to an entry inside the worn pages.

I eye her curiously before finally looking down and finding where she is pointing. I quickly read the entry:

 _You were a moment in life that comes and goes  
_ A riddle, a rhyme that no one knows  
A change of a heart, a twist of fate*

I'd recognize that beautiful, curved handwriting anywhere. There's no doubt in my mind, especially after all of the countless hours I've spent studying her journal - the entry belongs to Elena. I look to the top of the page. The date reads September 17th.

After I've read it, the woman pulls the book back around and flips over a few more pages. When she finds what she's look for, she again turns the book back around to me and points at another entry:

 _Said I'd see you soon_  
 _But that was...maybe a year ago…_  
 _It's so loud inside my head_  
 _With words that I should have said…_  
 _I can't take back the words I never said*_

The date at the top reads October 24th.

"She seemed very sad that day," says the woman, who no longer looks at me as though I am a bug that needs to be squashed, but as someone she pity's.

"You knew Elena?"

For the first time all evening, she smiles at me. "Very sweet girl."

I nod before quickly reading her words one last time before they are pulled away from me. "No entry for tonight, I suppose?"

She frowns. "She had a reservation, but called to cancel it a few hours ago. Said she'd decided to stay with an old friend instead."

"An old friend?"

She shrugs. "Not sure." She glances down at my ID again. "You're not by chance… _that_ Damon…are you?"

"Only if it means you'll let me stay," I attempt at humor. "Why? She mentioned me?"

"Once," she smiles, finally accepting my extended credit card to complete the check-in process. "On her first stay with us, I remember her sitting outside on those porch steps, just listening to her iPod and writing something down. She was out there for hours. When I finally stepped outside to check on her, we struck up a conversation – I remember finding her quite fascinating."

I smile, knowing this ability of Elena's well.

"When I asked her what she was writing, she smiled and said 'a letter I'll never send.'"

"A letter?"

"A letter to you," she smiles. "I didn't ask too many questions – didn't want to be intrusive."

I sigh; silently frustrated that no one around here feels the need to be intrusive.

"Well what'd she do with it?"

She shrugs. "Kept it I suppose."

"Well do you know what it said? Did you read it?"

"No. I'm sorry," she shakes her head.

I know better by now than to get my hopes up, so I am annoyed when I once again find myself surrounded with the familiarity of disappointment.

"I'll tell you this though," she smiles as she takes the guest book and turns it back towards me. "No woman writes letters like that or inscriptions like these unless she's terribly, terribly in love."

I'm not sure how her words make me feel, but I know that the word 'love' is probably quite a stretch. Regretful, sad…. sorry even, but not love.

At the end of the day, Elena ran away and never sent that letter. At the end of the day, Elena's silence has been the ultimate betrayal. She may have had her reasons, just as I have mine in wanting answers, but that doesn't change the past and it most certainly doesn't equate with love.

"Would you like to sign it?" she continues, flipping the book several pages over until the heading indicates March.

I stare at the blank space for several moments, unsure of what I could possibly write, aside from my name. I am unversed with lyrics and unskilled at creating deep magical words like Elena…. but…the idea of her ever coming back here; of this being perhaps my only shot to reach her, has me wanting to write something meaningful.

But words of my own escape me.

All I can think about now is a poem I once read in college; a poem that, at the time, had had no significant meaning, but over the last year has echoed through my mind consistently. I begin to write:

 _"Of all that city, I remember only a woman I casually met_  
 _who detain'd me for love of me,_  
 _Day by day and night by night we were together – all else has long been forgotten..."_  
-Walt Whitman

"You like poetry?" She smiles, watching me before she hands me an old brass key with the number 3 written on it.

"No," I smile, taking the key from her. "But I like _that_ poem."

She nods, smiling in approval, before pointing up the stairs. "Third bedroom on the right."

I thank her and begin to make my way up the stairs. I make it up three steps before she calls out, "Damon?" causing me to stop and turn back to look at her.

"I hope you find her."

I nod in appreciation. "Me too," I say, before finally making my way up and into the room.

Despite my exhaustion, or desire to not have to stare up at the yellow, flower-covered wallpaper another second longer, I cannot sleep. I am consumed with words of strangers and lyrics on pages. I'm stuck on 'hospitals' and 'October' and 'old friends,' as I attempt to solve the puzzle that may not exist.

As sleep finally comes and dreams inevitably set in, I am left in knowing only two things for certain: One, Elena is somewhere in Charleston and I am determined to find her. Two, the month of July will always make me think of her.

" _The truck is here!"_

 _The excitement in her voice carries all the way down the hall and finds me as I stretch out across the couch while scouring over the final draft of my resignation letter. I can't believe I'm doing this._

 _Over the course of the last six weeks, my excuses to avoid work have stretched from a brief vacation to temporary leave of absence, to a now full-blown resignation. In a few hours, the electronic copy of this letter will be sitting in my father's inbox. In a few short hours, I will be free…_

" _Didn't you hear me? The truck is here!" she smiles brightly as she appears in the living room entryway. She's so excited I can practically see her fighting the urge to not jump up and down. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail; her cutoff denim shorts are effortlessly showing off her long, tan legs, and her blue spaghetti strap top fits so perfectly, it actually has me thanking God for the July humidity._

 _It's strange how I can actually feel my tension diminish at the sight of her._

" _Great," I smile, sitting up. "I'll go grab my wallet."_

" _Wait, what?" She smiles, moving over to stand above me as she processes. "Oh no, no, no! You can't just pay them to move your stuff in!"_

 _I stare up at her blankly. "Um… Why not?"_

" _Because opening boxes is symbolic! It's like, I don't know, the starting of a new chapter with every one you open – plus it's fun!"_

 _I can't hide my unconvinced, underwhelmed expression – let alone my sense of dread._

 _She lets out a long sigh and tilts her head to the side, piercing my heart with her doe eyes. I quickly reach for her hand, pulling her down towards me. "You're so adorable when you're all pouty." I move in to kiss her, but she evades. Instead, she moves across the couch to straddle my waist, taking the letter out of my hands in the process._

" _You can't pay them because that's a cop out, and I don't do cop outs," she grins._

" _That's fine," I tease, staring up at her face as I begin to lightly trace my fingers along her collarbone until I'm slowly sliding the blue strap down her shoulder. "But I promise, this cop out will be so, so very worth it." I whisper as I move in to kiss where my fingers left off, "Besides, they're movers. Moving is what they're paid to do."_

" _Damon," she whines playfully as I begin to leave a trail of kisses along her neck. "This is a big deal to me."_

 _The slight trace of sadness in her tone has my attention. I slowly pull away from kissing her to look up into her eyes._

" _I want to help you unpack. I want to unload boxes together and fight about space and what stays and what goes and listen to you complain that I have too many records while I make fun of your weird baseball collection."_

 _I chuckle softly as I move both of my hands to rub her arms. "I don't have a baseball collection."_

" _You see? That's only something I would know if I get to help you move in!" she grins and I can't help but laugh. "Moving in together is a big deal…. and I want to do it together – not pay someone to do it for us."_

 _She is adorable and I am powerless to argue. "Okay."_

" _You're not having second thoughts, are you?" she continues, ignoring my response as she looks down at the letter that still lingers in her hands._

 _I take it from her and toss it to the side before lifting her chin up to meet my eyes. "No, I'm not having second thoughts."_

" _Because if you are, it's okay. You can tell me. If you feel like we're rushing things or if you feel like I'm pressuring you into this, you just have to say so and I'll totally call the whole thing off. "_

" _You could do that?" I jab, as I arch my eyebrows and concentrate on giving her the most seductive look I can muster without laughing._

" _I'm serious, Damon," she pouts, playfully hitting my chest. "The last thing I want is for you to completely resent me a year from now. I just want you to be happy."_

" _Elena," I smile, wrapping my arms around her in order to pull her closer. "There is absolutely no place in the world I'd rather be right now than here with you. You are the best thing that's happened to me in such a long time." She lets out a small smile, but still seems unconvinced. "You make me happy, and regardless of what happens with work today or even a year from now, I'll know that I made the right decision – because I'm here, with you. I'm choosing this life with you…. I'm choosing you."_

 _She studies my face for several moments, perhaps attempting to find the doubt or hesitation in my words, before she finally seems to accept them. I watch as the fear and nervousness gradually leave her eyes and, once again, become replaced with that bright light I've come to love._

" _Okay," she agrees._

" _Good," I smile._

 _I don't give her time to say another word as I suddenly move to a standing position and carry her up with me. As her legs continue to straddle my waist and her lips linger in front of me, I have the strongest urge to press her back against the wall and kiss her until she completely forgets about the movers altogether._

 _But instead I fight the urge. With one quick mischievous grin, and before she even knows what's happening, I quickly toss her up and over my shoulder and begin to make my way towards the front door._

" _Damon!" she screams through a fit of laughter. "Put me down!"_

" _When you see all of my stuff and decide you want to kill me, just remember that I did offer to buy us a bigger place," I smile, ignoring her screams._

 _She giggles as she playfully hits my back. "Cop out."_

 _When I finally set her down, we are standing outside and facing the inside of a fully loaded, wall-to-wall, box-covered, U-Haul truck._

 _The sight hasn't erased her smile though. She places her hands on her hips in a determined manner and examines the boxes, positively beaming. "No regrets?"_

 _I watch her, allowing her words of chapters and symbolic new beginnings to wash over me. As she looks over at me and I see the glow in her eyes, I know, she is my new beginning._

" _No regrets."_

I look down at the spot that marks those words, feeling worn and weary from the journey that's finally taken me full circle.

I wasn't sure if I'd actually be coming back here or not, but as fate would have it, here I am - standing in the driveway of that same small white house that still holds so many memories and tragic revelations.

It's been almost fourteen hours since my check-in at the B&B, and during that time, I feel like I've been in the middle of a maze. A morning stroll through town led me to a small café, which in turn led me to the Mezz where I began to think about 'old friends.' The thought of 'old friends' led me back to Blu's, where I became immersed with memories of Elena's old waitressing days and the friends who worked there along side her.

Nothing about the place had changed, including the name of the curly haired, green-eyed woman who made my drink when I took a seat at the bar.

She recognized me immediately, and by the shock and nervousness in her voice, knew exactly why I was there. I'd found the 'old friend _.'_

There'd been no need for casual chatter or pleasantries – we were never that close. My most significant memory of Liv Parker is on her wedding day two summers ago, which ironically enough, has nothing to do with her.

The only thing worth remembering about that day was the way Elena looked in her yellow dress and, of course, the look in her eyes that night when I first proposed along the shores of Folly Beach.

Liv doesn't play games though, and I appreciate that. As someone who witnessed mine and Elena's love first hand; as someone who worked with her, spent time with her and even covered her shifts when she came in late because of me – she doesn't ask a lot of questions.

I don't have to provide a long list of reasons on why I need to see Elena. I don't have to pour out my soul or attempt to convince Liv that my intentions are beyond anything that they're not. I don't even have to beg for the address.

" _Well? You remember how to get there, don't you?"_

" _You've got to be kidding me. Seriously?"_

 _She shrugs. "We needed a place to live! Would you have rather the house gone to a random stranger?"_

 _I roll my eyes in disbelief. I knew that our rent house would be snatched up the second we vacated it, but I never would have guessed it would have gone to Liv and Tyler._

" _Besides, I wanted her to have a place to return home to…." She hesitates, "It's yours if you still want it?"_

 _I stare at her in disbelief, unsure of how to respond to that. "Just tell me…I need to know…is Elena there right now?"_

 _Liv hesitates before pouring me another drink. "You'll find her behind the house, sitting at the end of the dock. That's where she spends most of her time…. You can tell her I sent you."_

I've been dwelling on that conversation for hours now. It's funny how, in all of my rushed efforts to find Elena over the past few days, I never really stopped to imagine just how this moment might actually feel. I've experienced everything from anger and loathing, to bitterness and regret, but something about _actually_ being this close to her feels strangely... surreal.

My heart is racing, just like always, as I begin to make my way around the house and towards the back. The sun is hanging low in the western sky, indicating maybe thirty minutes 'til sunset.

Despite the rain the night before, today has been warm. I briefly admire the sun's diminishing glow on the beach and our old house as I walk past.

When I reach the old wooden dock, I stop, taking a moment to look forward. There, approximately 100 feet away, stands a woman - her back towards me, unaware of my presence.

As I feel my feet slowly guiding me, I am lost to all things but her. I take in the sight of her brown hair, slightly wavy and a bit longer than I remember. I take in the sight of the way her jeans cling to her and the way her bare shoulder peaks out beneath the wrap that's currently pulled tightly around her. Her arms are crossed tightly around her chest as she gazes out. I don't have to see her face to know she's lost in thought.

Stepping closer, I begin to hear music. It's only then that I notice her iPod, playing softly as it sits a few feet away. Despite the emotions I'm currently feeling, the sight makes me smile. I pause for a brief second to listen, watch and appreciate what hasn't changed.

 **(Music plays)** _Losing my reflection in the water_  
 _Chasing my complexion in the time_  
 _Keeping all my secrets in the cold, cold wind_  
 _Home keep hold of my heart*_

I'm not sure what makes her finally turn around – a sound or just a feeling – but in the second that it takes for the world to fall away, her eyes land on mine.

We are lost in the sight of one another for what feels like several moments. I do my best to take in her every feature; her eyes still bright, but somewhat sad, her smile still warm, but slightly worn-down. She's different but the same. She's Elena – still a beautiful mess hidden inside a mystery.

"Hi," she says softly, not moving from the place she stands.

My heart is racing so rapidly that my brain has lost all connectivity to my vocal cords. "Hi," is all I can reply back with as I take another step to fill the gap between us.

"You," I hesitate, feeling slightly breathless, "are not an easy woman to find."

She nods, a small, sad smile forming on her lips. "I know."

Every question I've ever wanted to ask her suddenly comes racing to my mind. I want to know everything, but all I can say is, "It's good to see you."

She smiles. "You too." She takes a moment to take in my appearance as well. "How did you know,"?

"Liv," I quickly respond, making her smile. "That and a strange assortment of various other characters and events." I pause. "It would seem…you're a rather difficult person to forget."

She grins, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ears. God, I've forgotten how much I missed that.

After a moment, she turns back to acknowledge the ocean. "Would you like to sit with me? Maybe watch the sunset?"

I watch as she takes a seat on the edge of the dock before looking back up at me. The hopefulness in her eyes, as always, leaves me unable to say no. I take a seat next to her, consciously making an effort to keep some distance between us. I know, just one touch and I'd be putty in her hands.

"God, I miss this place," she says softly, almost to herself.

I hesitate for what feels like several minutes, before I finally have to ask, "Then why did you leave?"

She looks over at me, perhaps a little taken aback at how quickly I just re-opened old wounds. I try to remind myself that I'm not here to make nice or get sucked back into her world – I'm here for answers.

"Life gets in the way, I guess," she frowns with a shrug. "I really am so sorry, Damon."

"Apologies don't really matter a year and a half later, Elena," I say coolly. "I just need answers… and you're apparently the only one who seems to be able to give them to me."

She sits in silence for several moments, avoiding my gaze as she continues to look outward. I watch as a tear begins to make its way down her right cheek before she quickly brushes it away. The sight, despite my best attempts at anger, has me feeling guilty. I find myself struggling to resist the temptation to pull her near to me, but I refrain.

"I'm sorry about your dad," she says finally. "I know what that's like."

I sigh. "Thanks… I think that maybe you knew him better than I did."

She shakes her head. "I don't want that house, Damon."

"Take it," I shrug, indifferent. "It's of no use to any of us."

"No," she shakes her head again. "It belongs to you. I don't want it."

I don't want to argue about this. At least not right now. "Why did he leave it to you? How did you know him, Elena?"

She sits up a little big straighter, leaning off of her hands as she folds them into her lap. "I was volunteering at a children's hospital in Philadelphia – I guess that's how he found me; they had my records and all."

"What the hell were you doing in Philadelphia? Is that why you left?"

She quickly shakes her head. I see the tears forming behind her eyes again as she looks over at me. "Do you remember that last night?"

I hate that she's changing the subject, but I nod in agreement, thinking back to the night of that ridiculous fight and how it's somehow lead us to all of this.

"I want you to know, Damon, that me leaving that night had nothing to do with you or that fight."

I stare at her blankly. "Then what was it?" I pause. "Elena, I've played that last night on loop in my head for over a year now, trying to make sense of it. What in the hell could have possibly happened that made you just walk out like that? What did I do?" I hear the desperation in my tone, but I don't care.

"Nothing," she quickly assures. "Damon, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what was it?"

She quickly wipes away another falling tear as she turns away from me again.

"Right after you walked out, I got a call from Bonnie," she hesitates. "They had stopped in Philadelphia to take a break from the tour because Jeremy had gotten really sick."

I feel a knot form in my stomach, silently wondering if I know where this is going.

"When they finally made it in to see a Doctor…" She pauses, before finally stating point-blank. "Damon, Jeremy had Leukemia."

I am left speechless and frozen in place. In my head I'd been building up a thousand different scenarios and justifications…. but that had never been one of them.

"I'd actually known for about a week before that fight…I just didn't know how to tell you; I just couldn't accept that it was real."

"Which explains the journal," I say softly, almost to myself.

She quickly looks over at me. "You read my journal?"

"Well don't look so surprised." I slowly pull it from inside my jacket pocket. We both stare down at the worn leather as I trace my thumb along its edges. "I thought you knew. I thought," I pause, re-thinking what I want to say. "It just seemed like you always knew you'd be leaving."

She frowns. "I think that maybe I did."

I let out a long sigh, wishing I could say that didn't sting.

"But Damon, you have to understand, when Bonnie called me that night I got scared, okay? I panicked! Jeremy was so sick and I thought that maybe that was it. I _had_ to go. I had to be with my brother before it was too late."

I feel speechless, mostly from the shock that I actually agree from her. "That's fine, Elena," I say slowly. "Of course. I _get_ that… but how could you not tell me?" I turn towards her, practically pleading and forcing her to look at me. "How could you do that to me?"

The next thing I know she is standing, arms crossed as she looks down at me. "I don't know, Damon. I just couldn't, okay? I needed to be with my brother – I needed to be there to take care of him. I needed to spend time with him and focus on him getting better. That's all I could handle at the time. I'd already taken so much from you - I didn't want to burden you with this too."

I gawk up at her for a moment before finally rising to her level. " _Burden_ me?" She remains silent, watching me nervously. "Elena…how could you think that?"

She shrugs, wiping another tear away before re-crossing her arms.

"Elena," I repeat, unable to stop myself from stepping towards her. "I loved you! I would have done anything for you! How the hell could you just shut me out like that?"

I realize that I am standing only a few inches away from her now. She looks up at me briefly before turning away. "When I lost my parents, my biggest regret was that I didn't spend more time with them. And not just in the traditional since of time – in that I wish I'd chosen them more over just spending time with my friends or whatever – but _real_ time. I wish I'd asked more questions. I wish that I'd learned more about their lives; what it was like when they were growing up; how they met, how they fell in love, how they felt about their college drop-out of a daughter who was always better at writing lyrics on a wall than taking entrance exams."

"Elena,"

"I didn't want to make that same mistake with Jeremy, Damon. I wanted to be there for him – both physically and emotionally. I wanted to spend every single possible available second with him before it was too late. It's not that I didn't want you, or need you, or think about you every single second of every single day," she pleads. "It's just that all I could think about were my moments with Jeremy. I needed to be focused on that."

I feel as though my heart is breaking for her all over again. I hate myself for understanding, and even more for somewhat even supporting her decision. I take a deep breath and step away from her.

"When did it happen?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"October."

I frown and shake my head. "I'm so sorry, Elena."

She nods. "I owe your mom a lot… I'm sorry that we kept it from you."

I don't have to say it out loud, but I think I need to in order to process. "She paid for the treatment, right?"

"I was volunteering at that hospital when your dad found me. Apparently your mom was pretty adamant about it."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be. I actually enjoyed getting to know them – even if it wasn't in the traditional ways I'd always imagined."

We both smile.

"We'd been in Philadelphia with Jeremy for about three months before they found us. As you can imagine, during that time, Bonnie and I had spent just about everything we had on treatment plans and chemotherapy – I honestly wasn't sure what we were going to do," she hesitates. "I didn't _want_ to accept help from your family, Damon…"

I shake my head, appreciative that she did.

"Your father offered to help pay for everything – including relocated Jeremy to Memorial Sloan in New York where he'd have the best treatment in the country. I couldn't say no… but…I did have one condition."

"That I could never find out," I finish for her. My irritation returning as I turn away from her.

"I'm sorry."

The tone in her voice has me knowing she means it, but that doesn't take back what's done.

"When we moved to New York, everything seemed to be going better. For about four months, the chemo seemed to be working. The cancer went into remission and he started doing better – eating more, getting stronger, even drawing again." She smiles weakly, as do I. "But then, suddenly, it all came back…. and when the Doctors suggested a more aggressive treatment plan, Jeremy refused."

I watch as she wraps her arms tighter around her before stepping around me in order to avoid my gaze. It doesn't matter though; I can hear the tears in her voice.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to have your brother – and only remaining family member – tell you that they don't want to fight anymore?" She states softly, more as a reflection than an actual question. "Any idea what its like to have to support that kind of a decision? God, the fights me and Bonnie got into…"

"I don't understand…why would he just give up like that?"

She shrugs. "He wanted to live the rest of his life the way he wanted, and far away from that hospital. I can't say I blamed him…even if I wanted to stop him."

We are both silent for a moment.

"He always wanted me to come back here," she continues. "I think a part of him felt really guilty, like he'd pulled me away from my life or something – even though I assured him almost every day that he hadn't," she smiles. "About a month after he was released though, he became completely adamant about it. Said his last 'dying wish' was for me to get back down here and fix the gigantic mess I'd made," she lets out a small laugh.

She turns back around to face me. "I came back in September, hoping to sort out a new place for the three of us to live and, possibly, make hospital arrangements at the off chance he might change his mind…. But, of course," she smiles sweetly, "your parents had other ideas."

I sigh, understanding.

"I didn't want that house," she repeats, attempting to assure me. "I didn't want anything from your parents…. They were just so determined to help, and I still, to this day, can't understand why. After everything I did to you…. I just couldn't understand it."

I shrug, seemingly knowing _exactly_ why. She is Elena Gilbert and, as proven by all of my conversations with strangers, she is impossible not to care about.

Not even someone as cold hearted as my own father could resist.

"But despite everything, October didn't care. It came and went and took Jeremy with it…. He never made it down here."

I take a deep breath, finding myself in a weird place. I am overwhelmed with her story and find my emotions ranging from sadness and forgiveness to frustration and acceptance. Even stranger still, is the gratitude I'm suddenly feeling towards my parents. I am torn and conflicted at being kept in the dark; understanding Elena's desire to focus on Jeremy, but hating that it meant erasing me from her life.

That part, that right there. That's what I'm struggling with the most. The anger, despite my best attempts, just can't help but seem to seep through.

My mother was right. It is complicated.

"I'm sorry, Elena. I really, really am," I say sincerely. "But...I just don't know that I'll ever be able to understand. Why wouldn't you let me be _there_ for you? I could have helped you!"

"I regret what I did to you, Damon…. but… I can't regret the way I did it. I wouldn't trade that time with him for anything. I'm just sorry for the way it hurt you."

I nod, finally understanding that all the answers in the world will still never bring me the real clarity I seek. Closure is bullshit.

As the sun says it's final goodbyes and dusk sets in, leaving just enough light to highlight her features, I find myself stepping towards her again, knowing that no amount of explanations will ever be good enough.

When I am a mere few inches from her, I hand her the journal that's continued to linger in my hands. She looks down at it before looking back up at me. "I can't keep this."

"Damon, I,"

"Please just take it," I say softly. I need her to understand.

She takes it from my hands before looking back up at me. "I meant every word, you know? Even if they weren't my own… I meant them."

I nod, knowing she did.

We stand in silence for a few moments. I know I should walk away, but as she looks up at me, her eyes still filled with such regret and sadness, I am unable to stop myself.

I feel myself moving in towards her. I am suddenly wrapping my arms around her shoulders, pulling her in close as I bring my lips to lightly kiss her forehead. I want to take away her pain. I want to be there for her and assure her that everything will be okay. I want to tell her that the lyrics and the records and the memories have saved me, and that now it's my turn to save her… but I know I can't. She made sure of that when she pushed me away.

I have to get back to New York. I have to get back to the life I was forced to re-build when she left. I have to get back to my career, my responsibilities…my fiancé.

But as she holds onto me, and as the well-acquainted electrical connection and familiar waves of unspoken communication flow between us, I know I'm in trouble. Holding her in my arms is how it all began, and I know, if I don't walk away now, I never will.

I release her, pulling away in a slightly abrupt manner. "I have to go," I say stepping away. "I'm sorry, Elena."

I turn away, my heart beating out of my chest in denial, with every step I take.

"Damon?" she says softly, pulling me back in. I stop, yelling at myself as I turn to face her.

She looks nervous, and just as breathless as I feel. "Spend the day with me tomorrow?"

It's more of a plea than a question.

"Just one day…I promise."

My head is shouting, 'no, absolutely not,' but every time I try to say the words out loud, my heart literally aches.

"Please?" She remains motionless, nervously awaiting my answer.

Despite my best efforts, my body betrays me. Before I know what is happening I am nodding my head and the words are falling out of my mouth.

"Okay."

* * *

 **Spoiler: Next chapter will be _completely_ devoted to DE. Stay tuned and please, please review :)**

 **Songs used for this chapter:  
** Talk – Kodaline  
Words – Skylar Grey  
Home - Rhodes **  
**

 **Poem:  
Once I Pass'd Through a Populous City - Walt Whitman**


	6. Chasing All the Stars

**I just wanted to say a quick thank you again to each and every one of you who have followed, favorited and/or reviewed this story so far. I honestly can't thank you guys enough for all of your kind words and comments. I'm beyond flattered that even one person is taking the time to read this so, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU!**

 **This chapter means a lot to me and so does the song Chasing All the Stars by Fleurie - it just happens to be what I was listening to when I developed the idea for L &E, so I hope you'll check it out. :) **

**Thanks for reading! xx**

* * *

 **Chasing All the Stars  
** _There's a letter, sealed and unopened for you…_  
 _All my regret testifies that I am far from flawless, always reckless_  
 _Can I borrow your forgiveness?_  
\- Fleurie **  
**

* * *

The buzzing sound of my cellphone echoes throughout the room, pulling me away from sleep.

I blink for several moments, attempting to see through the darkness as I struggle to remember where it is that I am. Everything about this room is unfamiliar.

I roll over, not moving my head away from the pillow as my arm reaches up to the nightstand to find the alarm clock. I squint my eyes and groan in frustration when I realize it reads 4am.

Who the _hell_ is calling at 4am?

I have no idea where my cellphone is, but decide it's going to have to wait. I've barely been asleep for three hours and am far too mentally, physically and emotionally drained to even contemplate attempting to have a conversation right now.

I roll back over and stare at the ceiling, allowing my phone to go to voicemail as I watch the blades of the fan spin idly up above me. It took all the strength I had to bring myself to stay here last night, and even more to finally fall asleep.

I've been haunted with visions of her since the moment we said our goodbyes on the dock last night. I've been replaying our conversation over and over again in my head, attempting to find some sort of hidden message or explanation that will further justify her leaving, but always come up short.

She has consumed my dreams and every waking thought for the last 24 hours - perhaps, if I'm truly being honesty, much longer than that.

The house is quiet and, just like it did when I first unlocked the front door last night, leaves me feeling lost.

There are no words to describe the feeling of standing alone in the empty house that, before belonging to your ex-girlfriend and her dying brother, had belonged to your, now deceased, father – other than maybe depressing.

But still though, I must admit, the inside isn't nearly as gloomy as I'd been imagining it to be. Perhaps it's the large wrap-around front porch, marble floor foyer, carved stone columns, vaulted ceilings or the waterfront views from the upstairs balcony that have managed to change my perspective. It's obvious that, despite how long its been sitting here vacant and un-lived in, the house has remained well taken care of.

The sound of my buzzing cellphone once again carries throughout the room, causing me to groan in aggravation. The realization that it could be Stefan or work or even some type of an emergency crosses my mind. But my body is literally too tired to care right now. I hold my breath, waiting for it to stop, knowing that there is absolutely no way I can deal with anything other than attempting to fall back asleep. I know I'll need all the energy and strength I can get to face the day that lies ahead of me.

In a few short hours, I know I'll see her again. And, in spite of the guilt or the frustrations or the heartbreak I know I'll inevitably face at the end of the day, something about this realization makes me excited.

I've barely closed my eyes and attempted to fall back asleep when I am once again being forced into alertness at the sound of the ringing doorbell.

I quickly sit up, shocked and somewhat taken aback by the unexpected sound. Did I _really_ just hear the doorbell?

Reluctantly, I make my way out of the king size bed and over to the window.

Underneath the reflection of the moonlight, I can see a red Jeep parked in the circular driveway, but due to the coverage of the front porch, am unable to see the person responsible.

With aggravation coursing through my veins, I begin to make my way downstairs; every step only further contributing to the list of choice words I'm compiling in my head. For a moment, I even contemplate on finding some sort of weapon – maybe a baseball bat? – But surely, I reason, no burglar would be so stupid enough as to announce their own arrival? I quickly decide against it, knowing that my irritation is more than enough to take on any sort of threat.

But when I reach the mahogany front door and take a moment to look through the door scope, I suddenly lose my train of thought. I feel my breath catch in my throat and my heart jump into a familiar racing pattern when I see her standing there.

All of my sleep deprivation and irritation at being awoken suddenly seems null and void. I am now fully and completely wide-awake.

My nervousness and shock leaves me unable to open the door, and after a few moments, she raises her hand to knock. There is a sense of timidity behind each and every tap – so much so that had I been standing in any other room, I'm not even sure I would have heard it.

I hesitate, attempting to gather up the strength to open it. Despite having just seen her last night, I still feel as though she is the derivative of some long-lost ghost that has taken me years to find, and if I open the door too quickly, she might just disappear - leaving me lost and disappointed all over again.

Taking one more deep breath, I finally open it.

Even though she's the one that's knocking, she looks surprised to see me. I guess it's likewise, since the sight of her is not something I'm sure I'll ever again get used to.

Despite it being the middle of the night – or so early in the morning – she looks absolutely stunning. She doesn't need makeup for her skin to glow or her eyes to shine. Her hair falls loosely down her shoulders, reaching the front of her black tank top, which then leads to her black denim jeans. She's wearing all black and I can't decide if the sight has me more curious, intrigued or simply just…. speechless.

It's not until she finally smiles and says, "Hi," that I realize I'm staring at her.

"Hi," I repeat softly. We are once again stuck in the strange-familiar dance of shock and awkward greetings.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, um," she hesitates and I watch as her eyes slowly leave my face to travel southward, "wake you up." It's only then that I realize I'm standing before her in nothing but a pair of boxers.

Despite her best efforts to hide it, I can see the smile forming behind her lips as her eyes slowly travel back up to find my eyes again. I know I should probably go find a shirt, or at the very least attempt to cover myself behind the door, but something about watching Elena thoroughly check me out only increase my ego and decreases my desire to move. Besides, it's nothing she hasn't seen before…

"I tried to call…"

I nod, thinking back. "How did you…?"

"Your mom," she says quickly, and then looks like she wishes she could take it back. "I'm sorry. She gave me your new number a few months back."

I sigh and lean my head against the doorframe, frustrated at the reminder of my mother. "What are you doing here, Elena?"

"I have something I have to do tonight…before the sun comes up… and I was wondering…. _hoping_ actually…that maybe, you might wanna go with me?"

I stare at her. "It's the middle of the night…"

"Technically," she smiles and rocks on her feet, "it's morning…. and I was promised a whole day…." She bats her eyelashes sweetly. "Please?"

I can't help but smile and shake my head, knowing that I'll never be able to tell her no – regardless of just how much I know better.

"Let me go get dressed."

* * *

Less than twenty minutes, a quick shower and three shirt changes later, I am sitting in the passenger seat of the red Jeep Wrangler, which Elena has identified as belonging to Liv.

I have no idea where we're going or why we're going there in the middle of the night, but as she shifts the gears and pulls out onto the main road, I find myself slowly caring less and less.

Despite the tearful conversation or the awkward way in which we left things a few hours ago, I find myself feeling drawn in to the idea of spending one last day with her. For the sake of closure and all…

"I brought you coffee," she smiles, looking over at me. It's only then that I notice the cup she's reaching for in the front console. "Sorry, it's gas station brand – nothing else was open this early…. Black, right? …." She hesitates, fumbling. "But there's cream and sugar in the bag just in case that's changed." She quickly points to the bag that sits on the floorboard beneath my feet.

I can't help but smile as I take it in appreciation. "No, black is fine. Thanks."

She nods and we sit in silence for a few moments as she drives.

"Thanks for letting me stay at your house," I finally say through a smirk. "Not sure I could've taken that mattress at the B&B for even one more night."

"I'm glad you stayed," she smiles over at me, and I'm not sure if she's just talking about the house.

"That's the first time I've ever been there. I wasn't sure what to expect…." she continues. It's the first time I notice that she seems kind of shaken up. "How was it?"

"It's just a house, Elena…. It's _your_ house. Dad wanted you to have it…." I hesitate. "So do I."

She doesn't look at me, but I can tell she wants to argue.

"Elena," I begin, not really sure how to ask what I know I want to ask. "Everything with your brother,"

"Don't," she looks over at me pleadingly. "Please?"

I rotate in my seat so that I can really see her. "I just need to understand… Is there more to it?"

She lets out a long sigh as she turns onto highway 17. "Spend the day with me,"

"Elena, I am,"

"Just spend the day with me," she reinforces, looking over at me earnestly, "and I promise; I _promise_ you… at the end of the day, I will tell you everything you want to know. I will fill you in on every detail, every conversation; every _moment_ that's happened since the day I left if that's what you want…. Just please," she stresses, "just please give me this one day."

The look in her eyes leaves me powerless and unable to argue. "Okay," I nod in agreement.

"Okay," she smiles.

We are silent for another few minutes, but as she speeds up onto the highway, she moves her hand to turn on the radio.

(Singing) _Night after night you haunt me…  
Found my way on a plane_  
 _Things will never be the same again*_

I allow the song, the cool night breeze and the sight of her to wash over me. For a brief moment, I contemplate on taking her advice. I contemplate on what it would be like to take this day – just this _one_ day – to forget about all of the troubles and frustrations that have led us to this moment; a day to forget about all the worries and responsibilities that I left behind, and to join her in pretending that nothing is wrong and that only she and I and this one day exists.

But in the end, I know I can't do that.

If, for even one second, I let my guard down around her, I know there'll be no coming back – and I can't afford to make that kind of a mistake again.

I look over at her, once again noticing her all-black ensemble. "Where are we going, Elena?"

She doesn't look over at me, but grips tighter onto the steering wheel.

"Elena…."

"I know you don't have any reason to, but…" she pauses, "do you trust me?"

I want to agree. I want to confirm her reasoning that I have absolutely no reason to trust her – but for the sake of our one day of make-believe and pretend, I say, "yes."

We are silent for the remainder of the twenty-two minute drive, until finally, she begins to slow the vehicle down until we are stopping in front of what looks like an old art gallery. The street is completely deserted and all of the shops are locked up tight. I look around, confused at why we're stopping.

Elena moves to open the glove compartment, and without speaking, pulls from it a white envelope and hands it to me. I hesitate and eye her curiously before taking it. When I finally turn it over, I see that it's addressed to Elena and that the sender is Jeremy Gilbert. It's labeled 'Letter number 1.' I look at her, but she's just watching me, patiently waiting for me to read it.

I pull the letter from it and begin to read:

' _Elena,_

 _If you're reading this then I guess it really is time for me to say goodbye. I know that this last year hasn't exactly been easy on you, and I know that these last few weeks have been especially hard. I'm sure this isn't quite how you imagined our lives turning out – and honestly, neither did I. I guess life just sneaks up and throws you curve balls sometimes…_

 _Just know that, you deciding to respect my decision means the world to me, and even though I know it hurts you now, I just want you to know that I'm grateful. You and I both know that it was never going to get any easier, and the last thing I wanted was to be a burden to you or Bonnie for even a second longer. I was sick, Elena… really, really sick. You know that. It was never going to get any better. We both watched what happened to Jenna…and in addition to not wanting to go through that…. I couldn't bear to watch you or Bonnie go through it either. I know it's hard, Elena, but just know that I love and appreciate you so much._

 _I wanted to thank you for giving my letters to Bonnie – I never could have done it without you. But what you didn't know is that I had something up my sleeve for you as well. Don't act so surprised! You know I have to always have the last word!_

 _So as you've probably noticed, this letter is labeled 'number 1'. There are five total that Bonnie will be delivering to you in the next few weeks that follow– just like you did for her - and she is under STRICT orders to make sure that you complete each and every task that is outlined in them, understand? She should have also given you a camera. Did you get it?_

I look up at Elena and notice that she is pulling a Polaroid camera from underneath her seat. I smile and shake my head before I continue reading:

 _Make sure you're taking pictures as you complete each of the tasks, okay? Not that you'll need any help in remembering, but just so that you can look back on them and be able to keep them forever. I know what capturing moments means to you – which is why I've also outlined a playlist. Yes, I'm totally serious!_

 _Okay – are you ready?_

 _Task number 1:_

 _Go back to Charleston! Seriously, get the hell out of New York and go back to the place that makes you happy. Stop taking care of everyone else for a change and get on a plane and get the hell out of here!_

 _When you land, get in a cab and go anywhere! Put your headphones on and play 'On My Way Back Home'* – you know the song! And just drive! Whenever you reach the place that makes you feel most at home – take it all in and then, when the moment is right, take a picture._

 _Eventually, you and Bonnie can compare pics and laugh about how I continued to torture you long after I was gone._

 _But in all seriousness, I hope this will help you heal and help you to know that you deserve all the happiness in the world – because you do._

 _I love you, sis._

 _Jer_

I look up at her, feeling somewhat speechless. Instead of allowing me to speak though, she suddenly hands me a Polaroid picture. I look down at it and can't help but smile when I see a picture of her sitting on the very dock that we were standing on last night. The sun shines brightly, indicating mid-afternoon as it reflects off the water, and based on the outfit she's wearing, I can tell it was taken yesterday before I arrived.

She doesn't give me a chance to speak, but is quick to answer my unasked question when she hands me another letter. I turn it over and read the front labeled, ' letter number 2.' With a nod of her head, she encourages me to read it. Our ability to silently communicate has yet to change, despite the amount of time that's gone by.

I pull out the second letter and begin to read:

' _See, that wasn't so bad! And you must admit, it feels good to be back, right? Of course I'm right. So how is it? What's changed? I know it's not the same anymore… and I know that being there is probably making you feel sad right now, but that won't last forever, Elena. I promise._

 _Trust me, I'm going to help you fix everything – starting with your commitment issues!_

 _That's right, I said it. And in order for you to complete this next task you will really HAVE to commit – otherwise, you'll probably end up in jail. Don't be scared though. You know I'd never let that happen. Do you trust me?_

 _Just say yes._

 _Okay:_

 _Remember why you fell in love with this city? It wasn't the views, the history, or even the music! That art gallery on Broad Street…. Yeah, you know the one… The place where mom sold her first painting?'_

I look up. "I didn't know your mom was an artist to?"

She nods. "I'm sorry I never told you…"

I forgive her, but for some reason, feel sad. I suppose it's because the knowledge only confirms my fearful realization that maybe I never really knew her. Maybe the survival of our relationship _always_ depended on our world of make believe and pretend…

I continue reading:

' _I know it meant a lot to you, and I know you've been trying to convince the owner to sell it back to you for years now, but… he's a jackass._

 _Mom is the reason I fell in love with drawing, but her paintings will always supersede anything I could have ever done. That painting belongs to you Elena. It belongs to us… and I want you to take it back._

 _I pulled a few strings and was able to contact an old friend – one who may or may not be a professional security hacking expert – and I can guarantee that if you follow these instructions EXACTLY, you'll be able to take it back with no problems whatsoever.'_

I quickly lower the letter to look over at her. "You're not seriously thinking of doing this, are you?"

She smiles, and without giving me the chance to finish the letter or read the instructions, she is suddenly hoping out of the Jeep. "Are you coming?"

I gawk at her and watch as she quietly makes her way around the vehicle and towards the front door of the shop. "Elena!" I hiss, as I finally jump out and move to stand beside her. It's only then that I notice she's crouching down and attempting to pick the lock with what looks like some type of tension wrench. "Elena! I agreed to spend the day with you, not commit felonies!"

"So? You're a lawyer," she grins up at me as she works. "I'm sure you could talk our way out of it if we get caught."

I shake my head in disbelief and quickly look around the dark street, searching for any sign of life. "What about cameras?"

"All taken care of," she says assuredly.

I'm not even sure I want to know. I watch her for a few moments, frantically running over reasons in my head to convince her not to do this.

"You know you're like a _millionaire_ now, right? You could just wait and buy it back!"

"Not the point. Jeremy was right. Mr. Sanchez _is_ a jackass. The first time I visited Charleston I was seventeen. Mom and me came here because she'd received an offer on her first painting and this gallery was, supposedly, interested in offering her a sponsorship to do an exhibition. But when we got here and they saw her other works, they suddenly decided they weren't interested, but they still wanted the original painting. Mom was trying to save tuition money for me at the time and, despite how incredibly terrible they were to her, she didn't have the heart to turn it down. I've been trying to buy it back for years, but now they say it's not for sale unless I'm willing to sign over the rights to her entire portfolio – the same one they turned down years ago."

"That's extortion."

"Exactly."

I'm not sure what it is about standing here in the dark, surrounded by dimly lit streetlights, as I watch Elena attempting to break and enter into an old, corruptibly-run art gallery, but as adrenaline and familiar recollections of our old adventures set in, I'm overcome with the desire to help. I have no idea how she has this power over me.

"Here, let me try."

She smiles and, without hesitating, hands me her tools. I quickly insert one pick into the top and one into the bottom of the lock, and twist and apply pressure until, within just a few seconds, hear the clicking of the lock.

"Oh my God, you actually did it!"

"Don't act so surprised," I smirk arrogantly, standing back up. "But I hope you have a plan, because you've probably only got about thirty seconds before the alarm goes off."

She grins confidently. "On it."

I step back in astonishment and slight admiration as she pushes the door open, makes her way inside and heads straight towards the back wall. Within a matter of seconds, she has punched in the correct sequence of numbers and disabled the alarm.

"Unbelievable," I smile and shake my head. Suddenly remembering the camera, I turn back towards the Jeep to retrieve it.

"So where is this painting?" I say when I make my way back inside.

She turns around to face me before nodding her head to the right. "Come on, this way."

The next thing I know, we are both speed walking through a maze of hallways, attempting to reach wherever it is that they're keeping her mother's painting. On a few occasions I feel her hand brush up against mine and each time, I have to resist the urge not to take it.

"There it is," she finally points after what feels like hours. "Over there."

As we approach it, our steps begin to slow and neither of us moves to take it down. Instead we both fall into silent appreciation as we take a moment to observe it.

It really is beautiful.

The brush stokes of blues, greens, yellows, reds and oranges are all arranged in perfect harmony to form the image of a field of wildflowers. But it's not the landscaping that draws me in – it's the image of a woman, walking hand in hand with a young girl who I can only presume to be her daughter.

"That's my hometown – in West Virginia."

I nod, before looking over at her. "I can see why it meant a lot to you."

Elena looks over at me. Even through the darkness, I can see the bittersweet memories flooding her eyes and, again, I find myself having to resist the urge to not grab her hand.

"God, I can't believe I'm saying this but…shall we?" I finally say, stepping towards it.

She grins. With one quick deep breath, she reaches up, placing both her hands on each side of the painting, and lifts it down and off the wall.

For a moment, we both breathe a sigh of relief and look over at one another, grinning in relieved victory. However, it's short-lived, and within seconds of removing the painting, a deafening siren begins to echo throughout the room.

"Shit," I say, looking up at the sudden flashing lights that flood the empty hallways. I quickly hold up the camera, to which she smilingly obliges, and snap a picture before I shout, "Run!"

The next thing I know, we are both sprinting through the gallery, and in-spite of ourselves, laughing hysterically.

"I think it's this way," she laughs.

"You can't even see anything," I laugh, quickly taking the painting from her. We make the quick exchange before continuing our run.

Finally, making our way out of the maze, I see the exit sign.

"Come on!"

We dash out of the gallery, and though I don't know why, shut the door behind us. I quickly lay the painting in the back of the Jeep as Elena jumps into the driver's seat.

"Go, go, go!" I shout when I jump in and finally have the door closed behind me.

"Holy shit," she breathes, flooring the Jeep.

"Holy shit," I laugh, running a hand through my hair as I look back over my shoulder. There's no sign of flashing lights or even the distant sound of sirens.

"Definitely not what I'd imagined for this day."

She smiles, looking over at me. "What _did_ you imagine?"

I suddenly have no idea.

"Well, I guess we can add lock picking and art theft to the list of Damon-Elena firsts." I hesitate. "That was the _first_ time, right?"

She laughs. "Sorry I forgot to tell you about my thieving track record."

I stare at her.

"I'm kidding!" she laughs. For the first time, I'm unable to return her smile and remain silent. "Geez, lighten up! It wasn't that bad!"

I sigh, not really sure how I'm feeling all of a sudden. As we drive further and further away, and as the adrenaline and humor of the situation slowly eases up, I'm slowly finding it less and less amusing.

"Fuck," I finally sigh. "God if anyone saw us…"

"No one saw us…"

"I could lose my license, Elena! I could easily be facing disbarment."

She frowns, not looking over at me. "That's not going to happen."

I look out the window and away from her. "You don't know that."

"Damon," she says sternly, placing her hand on top of mine. The sensation sends an electric shock through my spine, forcing me to acknowledge her again. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have made you come."

The sincerity in her touch and the guilt in her tone leave me unable to stay mad. All of my temporary fears and doubts are suddenly fading away, as I remember the feeling of seeing her on my doorstep an hour ago. Even if she would have told me upfront everything we'd be doing tonight, I know I still would have joined her.

That's just the power she has over me – I'm unable to resist Elena and the endless possibilities that surround her.

"I wanted to come," I finally assure. And despite my best efforts, my hand finally gives in to hold hers. "I'm sorry…. You were right, okay? It was kind of…"

"Terrifying?"

"Fun," I smile, simply.

She smiles, squeezing my hand as she looks back over her shoulder to see the painting that now sits in the backseat. I can't help but feel happy as I watch her admire it.

"Okay," she grins, turning back around to the road. "The next letter is in the glove box." She looks over at me. "Will you read it?"

"You haven't read it yet?"

"I was supposed to have been on this journey months ago – Jeremy had planned for Bonnie to deliver the letters as each of the tasks were completed. But instead, after I opened the first one, I just…. I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to come back here. Not after everything that I did to you…"

"What changed?"

"I saw the news," she shrugs. "A few days ago, I turned it on and… there you were." She is silent for several moments. "Seeing what had happened to your dad… and seeing what you were going through… I don't know. I just knew that it was now or never. I had to get out of New York… and I had to start making things right.

"Bonnie gave me all the letters at once. She felt that it would be better for me to open them at my own pace… so that's what I'm doing. Finally opening up all the old wounds and facing them head on…. So…" she looks over at me, "will you read it?"

I hesitate, feeling out of place and somewhat guilty, but oblige her request all the same. I reach into the glove compartment and pull out another white envelope, this one labeled 'letter number 3,' and begin to read it out loud:

"' _Elena,_

 _Are you serious? You mean you actually did it? God, I would KILL to see that picture!'"_

I quickly pause to take a look at the picture I snapped of Elena just before we ran. I show it to her and neither of us can help but laugh as we look at the image of her smiling brightly as she holds up the stolen painting – despite the flashing lights that zoom above her head.

"' _Holy shit, Elena. I'm so proud of you! Although… I guess now is just as good of a time as any to admit that…. You didn't actually steal it.'"_

We both look at each other, stunned expressions on our faces.

"' _I know, I know, I'm so sorry! But if I would have told you the truth then the act wouldn't have been NEARLY as much fun and you know it! Yeah, it's true. The painting was bought and paid for months ago, and my 'hacker friend' really just works at the gallery and was doing me a favor. So I guess… if anyone's going to jail, it'll probably be him…. But anyways, it's yours now and rightfully so. See! Trust and commitment! Feels good, right?'"_

I shake my head and look over at her. We both can't help but to laugh.

"' _But that brings me back around to task number 3:_

 _It's time for you to jump, Elena! It's time for you to start taking risks and start finding ways to make your career happen. And PLEASE stop with all this talk of going to medical school! You know I'm all for supporting you if that's what I really thought you wanted – but you and I both know it's not or else you would have done it already! There's no such thing as waiting for the right moment, Elena. NOW is the right moment. I know you loved Dad, and I know you just wanted to make him proud, but what would have made him really proud is you finally finding and committing to the things that make YOU happy._

 _I have a surprise for you, but first, it requires a leap of faith._

 _Do you remember that time we drove up to Lake Jocassee and spent the entire day up there hiking and swimming? Do you remember when we came across those AMAZING cliffs and I dared you to jump, but you were too afraid? That was such a great day, but the only thing that would have made it better is if you would have jumped in with me from the top of those cliffs._

 _But it's okay. I'm giving you another chance._

 _Trust, commit, and jump, Elena! You're more than capable! And don't you dare open that fourth letter until you do!_

 _Love,_

 _You're annoyingly always-right younger brother,_

 _Jer'"_

"Cliff diving?" I say, slightly amused and slightly stunned as I put down the letter.

Her knuckles are white as she grips tighter onto the steering wheel.

"You're not afraid, are you?"

She looks over at me. "Of course not. But… I'll do it another time. You don't have to come. I've put you through enough already. I'll take you back…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You've already pulled me in. It's too late for turning back now. I robbed a museum for you, Elena Gilbert!" I tease, grinning at her.

She smiles and shakes her head. "I shouldn't have gotten you involved. I'm sorry, Damon."

"I think you're scared," I challenge.

"I'm not scared!" She looks shocked that I would dare make such an accusation. "I just don't think it's fair to drag you all the way up there just so I can follow some strange instructions in a letter. That's not what you signed up for. I'm sorry for forcing you into this."

"I didn't sign up for a lot of things, but here I am," I smile assuredly. "And you didn't _force_ me into anything. I'm the one that got into the car this morning and I'm the one who picked that lock – I'm pretty sure you weren't holding a gun to my head. I'm here because I wanna be, Elena."

She seems unconvinced.

"Come on," I urge. "Besides, who else is gonna take your picture?"

This makes her smile. She looks over at me. "Are you sure? It's a pretty long drive…"

I shrug and smile. "You have me for the day."

Whether from newfound bravery or just in having my assurance in wanting to tag along, she finally begins to speed up.

I smile in satisfaction, leaning my arm outside the window as I begin to relax deeper into my seat. "Road trip it is."

* * *

It's almost 10am when we finally pull off of the main highway and onto the dirt road that will lead us towards the lake.

Over the course of the last few hours we've stopped twice, one of which was to pick up a wide variety of snacks and junk food - to which I spent at least thirty minutes afterwards smiling in amused fascination that nothing about Elena's strange love of Cracker Jack's and Oreos had changed - and the other so that we could switch drivers.

Elena now sits beside me, sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, as I finally come to a complete stop at the lakes edge. I look over at her and can't help but smile. It's the only time she's been quiet for nearly the entire ride since we left the city limits of Charleston - not because she was talking, but because she was humming or quietly singing along with the radio. I'd almost forgotten what that sounded like…

"Elena," I gently stroke her arm, but she doesn't wake. I move my hand to lightly brush a strand of her hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. She is beautiful and I hate that I can't help but notice.

Everything feels surreal right now. I can't believe that I'm sitting here beside her – so far away from where I know I should be. She's taken me so long to find that it almost hurts to know that this is the last day I can see her.

As much as I've hated her, I know I've loved her – and that's the most painful realization of them all.

Hate is so much easier.

Everything would be easier if only she'd say she never loved me.

If only she'd admit that unrequited love is _really_ why she left, then maybe I could just move on and finally find some peace. Maybe that's what I need to hear her say….

But as her eyes slowly flutter open and her eyes connect with mine, I realize that I'm lying to myself and officially in way too far over my head. Regardless of the truth, there are no easy answers, nor will there be an easy way out.

She smiles and studies my face for a few more seconds, as though attempting to process where she is and whether or not it's really me.

"We're here," I finally say, pulling my eyes away and moving to step out of the car. "You ready?"

She nods and slowly follows my lead. I watch as she opens the back door and pulls out a few water bottles and throws them into a small backpack, along with the camera.

"What?" She grins, noticing me watching her. "I wasn't sure where we'd end up so I had to come prepared."

I just smile and shake my head.

The view of the pristine mountains, clear lake water and surrounding natural wildlife is absolutely stunning. It reminds me of why I loved living here in the first place, no matter how briefly.

We walk side by side in silence for a few moments as we make our way over towards the distant rock formations that tower above the lake. I am thankful that, however coincidental, we're both wearing practical shoes.

Maybe it's because I'm beginning to sense her anxiety, or maybe it's because I'm still feeling guilty about the way I spoke to her following the gallery incident, but either way, I want to hear her voice.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to yell at you."

She smiles. "You didn't yell."

"I kind of did."

"Well if you did, I don't remember it. You already apologized and it's forgotten," she smiles, walking ahead of me.

I smile, following close behind her. "I've got to hand it to your brother. He's got quite the… _creative_ sense of adventure."

"Yeah. He was always good at that," she smiles, turning around to look at me. "I'm sorry you never got to meet him."

"Me too." We walk a bit farther, approaching the cliffs. "So the letter," I start. "What he said… Is it true? Do you really not want to go to medical school?"

She moves to climb up onto a large rock before turning around to face me. "I don't know," she shrugs. "I always thought I did, but, it just seems like I could never make it happen."

I hesitate when I join her on the rock. "There's nothing wrong with that you know? Maybe Jeremy's right. If it's not really what you want to do then, why do it?"

"Maybe it _is_ what I want to do and I just don't know it yet."

"Or," I pause, "maybe there's something else you want to be doing, but you're just too afraid to go after it."

She is quiet and I'm afraid I've offended her with my bluntness, but instead, she turns around to look at me, the warmth of the sun illuminating her face as she smiles. "Do you know who you sound like right now?"

I shrug.

"Me…. Two years ago."

She turns to continue climbing. "You're different…. I can't explain it, but… you're different."

I quickly catch up to her so that I can attempt to help her up another large boulder before we can begin making our way up the designated hiking trail. "So are you."

We both catch our breath for a moment as we reach the edge of the trail that only continues to climb further upward. "I know I've changed a lot," she frowns, looking away from me. "I didn't mean to. I guess I kind of just got…. lost."

"I know the feeling," I nod. But as I stare at her, I begin to see what she means. The lighthearted, fun, free-spirited Elena that I'd once known, is hardly visible now. Instead, I see a girl whose heartache, worry and grief has worn her down almost beyond the point of repair.

"Elena, we don't have to do this. You don't have to prove anything to anybody… not even yourself."

Catching her breath, she seems to regain her second wind as she shakes her head and steps past me. "No. I have to."

I follow behind her for another twenty minutes, allowing her to lead since I'm unfamiliar with the trail. But as the path gets rockier and more winding, I feel myself drawing closer to her as my protective instincts slowly begin to resurface.

Finally, I see a clearing amongst the trees. As we reach it, I realize it's because we've officially reached the top of the cliff. I step forward, moving as close as I can to the edge in order to look down. When I look over, I have to smile, realizing that despite the hike or the ridiculous amount of sweat I'm officially covered in – the jump really isn't that bad, maybe 25-30 feet. I turn around to look at Elena, but realize she's still several feet behind me, stopped and frozen in place.

"Elena," I chuckle. "It's really not that bad."

"No," she shakes her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I can't do this."

I slowly approach her and take her hand. It's only then that I notice she's trembling. "I never knew you were afraid of heights," I say, adding this to my growing list.

"I'm not," she swallows. "Well usually. If it has a seatbelt or a pretty successfully survival rate then I'm okay, but this… this doesn't have a seatbelt."

I can't help but laugh, partially because it's funny, but more so because I've never seen her this vulnerable before. "I'm not going to make you jump, but… I think you'll regret it if you don't. Come on," I indicate as I take her hand, "let's just look over, okay?"

She squeezes my hand so tightly I think I heard something crack, but either way, she allows me to slowly guide her over to the edge.

As we finally reach a secure place to look over, she lets out some sort of a high pitch squeal and instinctively buries her head against my chest.

"Look," I point out, attempting not to laugh. "Clear blue water – definitely deep enough for this kind of a jump. And it's a straight shot. Nothing's gonna hurt you unless you can't swim, and I _know_ you can swim! Remember that time we jumped off the pier? It's the same thing."

She shakes her head, unconvinced and still trembling.

Finally, I turn around to face her, gently placing my hand on her cheek. "Elena," I begin, "I know that neither of us are the exact same person we were a few years ago, but I do _know_ you, even if you can't remember.

"Things haven't changed that much and the girl I used to know was brave and fearless. She was the most inspiring, daring and courageous person I'd ever met… And with the perfect playlist… she was pretty much unstoppable."

I feel her tension and nervousness slowly beginning to fade as she finally smiles. She places her hand on mine that still rests on her cheek and begins to nod.

"Okay," she says, taking a deep breath and a step back. "Okay."

She paces for a few more minutes, continuing to say, "okay," as though talking herself into this, while taking several more deep breaths.

Suddenly, she stops. The next thing I know, she begins to take off her top.

"Whoa, wait. What are you doing?"

"Well I can't exactly swim in this, now can I?" she says casually. "Turn around if you want."

I'm stunned and speechless, unable to turn around, as I watch her toss her black tank top to the ground before she begins unbuttoning her jeans and slowly sliding them down. She's left in nothing but a black bra and panties, and I'm left with nothing but a rapidly racing pulse.

Her body is perfection. Every curve and every edge beautifully defined. From her long tan legs all the way up to the small birthmark on her hip to the toned features of her arms. She is flawless and I am obviously staring.

"Sorry." She smiles, blushing slightly as she notices. "It's nothing you haven't seen before though."

I can't help but smile, hearing her recite my thoughts from this morning.

"Are you coming?" She looks over at me, extending her hand to me as she continues to take deep breaths.

"I'm just here to take pictures," I tease, moving to pull the camera from her backpack that now lies on the ground. "Besides, I saw Titanic and that whole you-jump-I-jump thing didn't work out so well for Jack…."

She grins, taking several steps backwards and away from the cliff.

"You don't have to jump," she pauses, looking over at me before taking one last deep breath. "But, I hope you will."

The next thing I know, she is running towards the edge and jumping straight off the cliff. I quickly pull up the camera and snap the shot, as she extends her legs straight down and lands perfectly in the water.

My heart is racing in anticipation as I watch and wait for her to resurface. I'm somewhat caught off guard at how quickly she changed her mind and took the leap, despite having been so nervous a few moments prior.

After a few seconds, I watch as she pops back up and I can instantly hear her laughing.

"That was amazing!" she shouts. "Damon, come on!"

The sound of her laughter feels good. It's inspiring and infectious, just like old times.

I am unable to resist and the next thing I know, I am tossing my t-shirt to the side and joining her as I strip down to nothing but just my boxers once again.

"You better shut your eyes!" I shout down to her. "It's totally possible these babies will come flying off the second I hit the water!" I tease and we both begin to laugh.

"Just jump already!"

I take a deep breath and, just like Elena, take several steps backwards before I'm suddenly racing forward. The feeling of temporarily flying through the air feels free and amazing. I attempt to take it all in - the view, the moment, the adrenaline – but it's all fleeting and short-lived, and the next thing I know, I'm hitting the water.

It's icy cold, but also rejuvenating after our hike, and so I allow myself to sink down deep as I allow it to heal my aching muscles. I can hear Elena calling my name from the surface and I can see the waves of water being created around her as she swims.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't resist.

I swim up towards her and suddenly grab hold of her legs. I hear her let out a terrified scream as she attempts to shake me off of her.

When I finally resurface, she is prepared, and begins splashing me like crazy. "You're an ass!" she shouts through a laugh.

I retaliate, splashing her back. We are caught in a moment of splashing each other as I swim around her until I find myself too close.

"You were right," she smiles, treading water a few inches from me, "I would have regretted not jumping."

"Glad I could help."

We are quiet for a few moments, just enjoying the swim and each other's company.

"Can I ask you something?" She says after a while. "Did you really mean what you said? All of that stuff about me being _brave_ and _inspiring_?" She grins, saying the words somewhat mockingly, but I know she's asking in seriousness.

I nod. "Yeah… I did."

She frowns and nods. We are quiet for another few moments.

"I'm sorry I ended up disappointing you… I never meant to."

I want to say it's okay, but I know I can't. As much as I want it to be, I'm not sure that my disappointment with the way things turned out will ever be okay. I find it almost heartbreaking to think about the life she and I could have had together; how _this_ could have been our lives everyday…. But that's impossible now.

For the sake of our perfect day though, I attempt not to dwell on it.

Instead I just tilt my head towards the shore and say, "let's go again."

* * *

We spend the next three hours hiking, jumping and swimming until finally, exhaustion and starvation finally creep in and threaten to disrupt our afternoon. After one last trek up the hill to retrieve our clothes and Elena's backpack, we finally make our way back towards the Jeep and load up.

She offers to drive, but I decline and take first shift, wanting her to take this time to read Jeremy's fourth letter.

As we settle in and begin moving away from the dirt road and back out towards the main highway, she reaches into the glove compartment to pull it out. I try to stay focused on the road, not wanting to invade her privacy or interrupt the thoughts that are surely racing through her head as she begins to open it up.

She doesn't owe me an explanation or a front row seat into her life anymore, so I am surprised, therefore, when she once again includes me and begins reading it aloud:

"' _Elena, if you're reading this then it had better mean you jumped off that cliff!_

 _So, did you? …._

 _AGH! YESSSS! ELENA! I'm so proud of you! How did it feel? Better than stealing art?_

 _Sorry…Too soon? …_

 _Ha! Wow, I just can't believe you actually did it! That's so awesome, sis! Congrats on conquering your fear!_

 _Okay, so as I was saying. Stop with all this medical school stuff! There's seriously nothing wrong with finally admitting that it's not really what you want to do. I promise, it's okay!_

 _But since I know you're probably still unconvinced, I figured I'd just take matters into my own hands and help you out…_

 _Do you remember that old, empty shop on Market Street? Near that amazing café with those incredible pastries we used to love? Well… it's been sitting empty for years, and I know you always loved that locations so I kind of... sort of... bought it for you..._

 _Yup. Me and Bonnie both pitched in, took out a loan and decided that the only thing that could possibly be better than you owning your own business, would be for you to own your own record store._

 _SURPRISE!'"_

I look over at her as she stops reading. I realize that she now has her hand over her mouth in shock. Tears are slowly forming behind her eyes as she attempts to process and continue on.

'" _Trust, commit and jump, Elena! Music makes you happy, and it's time for you to stop running from the things that makes you happy. Bonnie agrees and she wants to help you._

 _I truly believe that, between the two of you, you're going to turn it into something really amazing. My only regret is that I won't be there to see it happen...'"_

She pauses again as she wipes a tear from her eye.

 _"'I know you can do this. You just have to try, okay? Please? And if you fail – which you won't! – just know that the point is that you tried. Nothing other than that really matters._

 _Which leads me to my fourth task:_

 _It's time for you to try to pick up the pieces with you and,'"_

But she stops. I quickly look over at her, wondering why.

She continues reading in silence for a moment until, suddenly, she is folding up the letter and quickly putting it back into the envelope.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says flatly, forcing the letter back inside the glove box.

I'm silent for a few moments, watching her and wondering if I should pry. I know it's none of my business, but I suddenly feel the need to know.

"Pick up the pieces with you and… what, Elena?"

She shakes her head. "Not _what_ ," she says quietly, turning to look over at me. "Who."

Silent recognition begins to take place and I can't help but sigh as I envision my name written across the page. We are left in awkward discomfort for several moments as neither of us says anything. I wish I didn't want to hear the rest of the letter, but… I do.

But I know that her brother's advice – whatever it may be – will do neither of us any good. I know that there are no more pieces for either of us to pick up, and that, even if there were, it won't change the facts.

Tomorrow, I will be on a plane headed back home to a career and a life that's far removed from Charleston, and she will be at the beginning of a new life that's far removed from New York. There are no answers in any letter or in any conversation that will change those facts, and I can't allow myself to think otherwise.

Today has to be my last day with Elena, of this, I am certain.

"So tell me about your life," she says, changing the subject after several silent miles. "I want to hear everything… that is, if you want to tell me."

"There's not much to tell," I deflect, not looking away from the road. "Work, funerals, lyrics and mysteries… not much has changed," I smile over at her.

"I wasn't trying to create a mystery," she says sincerely. "I was just trying to leave you with something to hold on to."

"Well, I guess it worked."

"Those songs… those lyrics in the journal… I've never stopped listening to them," she sighs, looking out the window. "I guess I've never really wanted to let them go."

I silently wonder if it's only the songs she's talking about, but I don't ask.

"Jeremy's right, you know? I'm a mess… worse than a mess…"

"You're not that bad," I smile.

"No," she assures. "I am. Trust, commitment, the ability to make important decisions… I'm terrible at all of those things. I've just been going through life; just going through the motions and allowing it to take me places without ever really asking why. I've been reckless and hurtful, only making moves that benefited me or just felt right when they were probably impulsive…. And I allowed you to get sucked into that… You didn't even really know what you were getting into and… I'm sorry."

I take a deep breath, knowing I shouldn't begin to say what I'm about to say, but I can't help it.

"There may have been things we rushed into, Elena. And maybe… maybe we didn't know each other as well as we should have when we moved in together."

She nods, frowning as she looks over at me.

"But that year together…" I hesitate. "Regardless of what I didn't know about you or your life or your family… I can't regret that year, Elena. As much as I want to; as much as I've tried… I can't regret you."

I hesitate before continuing.

"You may have been a lot of things whenever we were together – and maybe between the impulsiveness and what happened with your brother, that's the only answer I'll ever get despite how much it killed me when you left – but, I didn't see it. I never saw it coming, Elena. Maybe it's because you never truly let me in, but I just didn't see it. To me, you were never a mess… you were perfect."

She is silent, watching me intently as though waiting for me to take back my words. I won't though. Even if I wanted to, I know I couldn't.

Despite the anger and hurt I've felt towards her; despite my frustrations and bitterness at still not having a clear, black and white explanation for the ending of our relationship, I cannot discredit what we had together. I know I've told Ric and Stefan and even my father that everything in our past was a lie, but I think the only person I was ever _truly_ trying to convince was myself.

She doesn't offer up much more information for the remainder of the drive and neither do I.

I still have burning questions, and of course, the haunting realization that I've yet to tell her about Rose…. But, instead, we stick to easy subjects like the weather and the sunset and how nervously excited she is at the possibility of opening her own record store.

Listening to her talk about business plans, decorating ideas, grand opening possibilities and artists she hopes might someday stop in, only further confirms Jeremy's theory that this is the right move for her.

It's a little past eight thirty in the evening when we finally pull back into the circular driveway and come to a stop in front of the two-story house on Beckenham Drive.

As the engine shuts off and the air between us becomes deafeningly silent, I know that this is it. Our day together has come to an end, and it is now time for us to say our goodbyes.

"Thank you for coming with me," she smiles. "I never could have gotten through those letters without you…. Or committed a fake felony."

I can't help but chuckle, remembering the feeling of running through the dark hallways of the gallery with her. "You'd have been alright."

"Not really..." she says softly.

We are again silent.

Try as I might, I just don't know how to end the evening. Maybe, if I'm being honest, it's because… I'm still not ready to.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?"

I feel my heart beginning to race as soon as the words fall out of my mouth. The possibility that she might say no suddenly crosses my mind and leaves me feeling empty.

She looks over at me, a small, nervous smile forming on her lips. "Sure."

And just like that, I am right back where I started – irrevocably lost and cruelly conflicted; hopelessly pathetic and desperately renewed.

As we make our way out of the Jeep and up the porch steps that lead us to the front door, I know that this is a bad idea. I know that I should stop this right now - say goodnight and turn and walk away. But I can't….

I try to tell myself that having dinner together means nothing. I tell myself that an evening with Elena behind closed doors is purely for the purpose of conversation; a night to clear the air and finally address every topic that should have been discussed years ago.

The guilt is there, but I attempt to push it aside, convincing myself that nothing exists between us but the possibility of a steadily-renewed, strictly platonic friendship - if even that. Nothing more.

Besides, I was promised answers… and even if it takes all night… answers I intend to get.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Please review :)**

 **Songs for this chapter:  
** You Haunt Me – Sir Sly  
On My Way Back Home – Band of Horses


	7. Ghost Of You

**I'm SOOOO sorry this update took forever! I had so many major life events happen these last two weeks that it just really, _really_ interfered with writing. I'm so sorry. ****Not to mention, I probably stopped and restarted this chapter about a dozen different times because I just couldn't seem to get it right.** **Fingers crossed that you're all still reading and haven't given up on me. :)**

 **I'll make this note super short and sweet, and just say THANK YOU all so much for the kind** **reviews. They have been my much needed motivation this week, and I couldn't have made this chapter happen without them.**

 **Thanks again, and without further ado, Chapter 7!**

* * *

 **Ghost of You  
** _You didn't mean to find me_  
 _I didn't mean to fall…_  
 _If I'd have been a little stronger,_  
 _We'd have had eternity_  
\- Ally Rhodes

* * *

"You were always better at this than me."

I smile as I lean over the cutting board, casually slicing mozzarella, mushrooms, peppers and an assortment of other vegetables that we'd deemed worthy enough to pile on top of our homemade pizza. With my guidance, Elena had assisted in mixing and kneading the dough, but now as it rises, she's perfectly content to just sit and watch me and, for whatever reason, I'm perfectly content to be watched.

She is currently propped up on the granite countertop, swinging her legs back and forth over the edge as she sips from her glass of red wine. It had taken her a few minutes to make her way inside the house - hesitantly lingering inside the doorway as she took in the oversized entryway, grand staircase and hanging chandelier – so in order to calm her nerves, and mine, we'd quickly opened the 2010 Cabernet Sauvignon I'd found in the off-the-kitchen liquor cabinet last night.

"Better at what? Not burning the house down?" I smirk, playfully raising my eyebrow at her. "Because I'm pretty sure an unsupervised child with matches is better at that than you."

She lets out a fake gasp and glares at me in a playful manner. "I'll have you know that I haven't burnt so much as a pop tart in almost three months now," she smiles. "But yeah, I admit it, you were always better at cooking than me."

"Not always. You once made a pretty killer grilled cheese, remember?" I think back to the first week we lived together when the only food sources in her cupboards were coffee, cereal and bread. She blamed it on her job at the restaurant, saying that the manager always gave her free food - but that didn't stop me from teasing her anyway.

"Yeah, yeah," She grins and waves me off. "Did you know that when I was thirteen, I told my mom I was going to become a chef?"

I attempt not to laugh.

"It's true. It was right after we'd just finished watching one of those cooking shows on the food channel, and I told her I was going to move to Paris and become one of those chefs who chops things and sautés things and creates things that no one else has ever heard of. I wanted to arrange it in a fancy design on a fancy plate – you know? – The ones where the portions are ridiculously small and the prices are completely outrageous? Yeah. I wanted to do that."

"What did she say?" I chuckle.

She grins. "She said, quite calmly and in the most sympathetically not-wanting-to-crush-her-daughters-dreams sort of way, 'Elena, you're afraid of knives and hot ovens and your favorite dishes include Raman noodles and chocolate chip pancakes."

"Hopefully not together?"

"It's my favorite," she grins.

I stare at her, eyebrows raised and a look of disgust on my face.

"I'm kidding!"

I shake my head and we both laugh for a moment. After a few seconds she takes another sip of her wine. "It's okay though. I kind of like being a terrible cook…. It always gave me an excuse to watch you."

She smiles behind the rim of her glass, as though nervous of her words.

"I never minded," I look up, meeting her eyes. "Besides it always came with a pretty good soundtrack."

She nods. Silence follows for several moments and I feel her demeanor growing tense. "Sometimes I wish it hadn't."

I look back up at her. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs as she takes another sip. "Soundtracks are harder to forget. Over time, words and pictures and silent memories fade, but with us…" she hesitates, "everything was a melody. I can tie almost every one of our most important moments to a song; songs that get stuck in my head for days and become impossible to forget."

She's doing that thing again, the thing where her words sound more like poetry than everyday conversation – and it feels strangely comforting and normal.

I nod, knowing exactly what she means. I finish chopping and move to take a drink from my own glass before speaking again.

"On the night my dad died," I hesitate, not sure if I want to tell her this, "I wasn't with him because I was chasing down a song,"

She sits down her glass, listening intently.

I shake my head and smile in disbelief. "That song you played the night of that terrible storm? The night we barely made it back inside before," I stop myself. I feel my skin grow heated as I think back to the feeling of running my hands through Elena's drenched hair before I lifted her up into my arms and roughly sat her on top of the kitchen counter – much like she is now. My blood becomes hot as I recall the feeling of being between her thighs, kissing every inch of her soaked skin.

I take a step back from the counter and run a hand through my hair, quickly attempting to shake off the head-spinning memory.

"It was the night I told you I loved you," she finishes for me – although somewhat far off from what I was originally thinking. She looks down at her hands, avoiding my gaze.

"Yeah," I swallow thickly, allowing us both to dwell on the memory for a moment.

"There were these two musicians in New York, just playing on the streets. They must have been at least two blocks away, but I could hear them as clear as day. And all I could think about in that moment was…. I have to get to them. For whatever reason, I had to find them and I had to hear that song again." I pause. "I guess… I don't know," I hesitate again, "If I'm being honest, I guess I was still just looking for some piece of you to hold on to…."

She is still looking at her hands, avoiding my gaze, but obviously taking in my every word.

"I almost called you so many times," she says, barely above a whisper.

"Then why didn't you?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

I take a deep breath, trying to keep the frustrations from building in my chest. There are still so many things I want to ask, so many things I _need_ to understand.

I'm about to press her when, suddenly, my phone begins to buzz from inside my back pocket. I want to ignore it, but she doesn't let me.

"I'll let you get that," she says softly, sliding off of the countertop. She begins to walk away, but then, somewhat hesitantly, turns back on her heels. "Actually, would you mind if I went and got cleaned up? I still smell like the lake," she grins warily. "Do I have time?"

I hesitate, not wanting to let her out of my sight for fear she might disappear, but reactively, I feel myself nodding anyway. "Yeah of course. Bathroom is up the stairs, second door on the left. There should be everything you need up there."

She nods appreciatively. "Thanks."

I wait until she has walked out of the kitchen, past the dinning room and up the stairs, before finally reaching into my back pocket for my phone. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or frustrated to see that it's only Stefan.

"Yes?" I say in my most tauntingly sarcastic tone.

"Where are you?" He immediately demands. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"Well _hello_ to you, too."

"Damon!"

"Relax, Stefan. Everything is fine." I can practically hear him pacing through the phone.

"You missed the meeting today. You know that, right?"

I think back for a second, wondering what day it is… "Shit."

"Yeah! The D.A. offered Donavan a Plea Bargain today and I think he's going to take it."

"Wait, what? No, no, no, he can't do that! I have this case in the fucking bag, Stefan! Can't you stall him?"

"No, Damon. I can't. He's under the impression that his _lawyer_ has been a bit too distracted lately and doesn't have the time to properly devote to his case… Frankly, he isn't entirely wrong."

I grit my teeth. "If there's something you want to say to me, Stefan, then just say it."

He lets out a long sigh. "What are you doing there, Damon?"

"I thought you didn't know where I was?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"Ric?"

He hesitates before confessing. "Ric."

I silently remind myself to kill him when I get back.

"So how is she?" He asks after I'm silent for a few moments.

Now it's my turn to sigh. I run a hand through my hair, not quite sure how to answer.

"Come on, Damon. I know you've seen her. What did she say? How did she know dad?"

"It's complicated."

"Now you sound like mom."

I grit my teeth again, annoyed at being compared to Lily, but somewhat also appreciating the simplicity of the 'it's complicated' answer.

"They were paying for her brother's treatment," I finally confess. "Jeremy had cancer…. He past away a few months back."

Stefan takes a deep breath on the other line. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"Geez…" he pauses. "That's terrible. Is she okay?"

"All things considering… I guess…" I pause. "Still though… I can't quite make sense of it all. I mean, come on, Stefan. You knew dad. It wasn't like him to give a shit about anyone. Especially someone he barely knew. He _never_ liked Elena; he always made me feel like she was the worst mistake I'd ever made."

"Well maybe it was mom's doing?"

"Like he cared what she wanted."

He's silent for a moment. "Maybe deep down… he did."

"Maybe," I shrug, annoyed with my younger brother's optimism.

"When are you coming home?"

"Soon. Tomorrow I think. I just needed some time to figure some stuff out."

"What is there to figure out?"

I don't answer.

"Damon?"

"I'm fine, Stefan," I answer abruptly, knowing what question he's really asking.

" _Are_ you?"

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the counter. For whatever reason, I decide to be honest. "I don't know."

I can almost see the worried concern on my brother's face and hear it even more in his tone. "Damon, please don't do this."

"Do what? I'm not doing anything wrong, Stefan. Rose told me to finish up with all of dad's affairs and that's _exactly_ what I'm doing, starting with this house. Elena and I just have a bit of unfinished business to clear up, and then, I'll be on the first flight back to New York tomorrow morning. Scouts honor." I hold my hand up and cross my fingers mockingly, though he can't see it.

"What sort of unfinished business? Damon, there's nothing to clear up. That house belongs to her and what she does with it is her business now. Does Rose even know you're there? I'm not sure if that's quite what she meant…"

"Jesus, Stefan, can't you just trust me for five Goddamn minutes?" He falls silent, instantly making me feel guilty for raising my voice at him, but I continue. "I need to be here, okay? I can't explain it, but… I just need to be here right now."

"I do trust you, Damon, but… the last time you went down there… you almost never came back."

"Well that's not going to happen again,"

"I just don't want you to get hurt…. Or hurt anyone else."

It's the first time I consider the fact that Rose is not the only person I'm putting at risk here. Since the moment I hopped on that plane, I've been selfishly and foolishly convincing myself that this is what I needed to do for the betterment of myself… for the betterment of _us_. But as I listen to Stefan, there's more than just concern for the state of my relationship in his tone – there's genuine fear; fear that _he_ might lose me again as well.

"I can handle it, Stefan… And I promise, I'm not going anywhere," I assure. "I just had to come back for one last time. Clear my head. Clear the air. Get some closure. I don't know," I shrug. "I can't explain it… I just had to."

"Okay." I feel him nodding through the phone. "I trust you. You know at the end of the day, I just want you to be happy," he hesitates. "Just please be careful, okay?"

"Thanks, Stef," I quickly acknowledge. "I'll be on the first flight back tomorrow. And whatever you do, don't let him take the plea!"

I quickly end the call, not waiting for either of us to say goodbye, before tossing it to the side.

I lean my palms flat against the cool granite countertop and lower my head, taking a deep breath as I try to form a positive, coherent list of reasons why I'm still here. I try to justify my actions and recite all the positive reasons for staying – for finding Elena, for spending an _entire_ day and evening with her - but instead, all I can do is find the negatives.

I'm missing work and, _again_ , putting my career in jeopardy.

I have a fiancé who, despite what I want to believe, would be absolutely crushed and devastated if she knew I was here.

I have all the answers from Elena that I'm likely to get and, Stefan's right, this house and whatever she chooses to do with it no longer concerns me.

I have a fiancé.

There's no such thing as closure and the longer I stick around, the harder and more blurred everything will become.

I have a _fiancé_.

To end the evening quicker, and to have something to do with my suddenly anxious hands, I quickly resume our pizza making by rolling out the dough, pouring and spreading the tomato sauce, and topping it with the cheese and generous portions of the other chopped ingredients.

Once it's in the oven, I make my way back over to the liquor cabinet and dig around; looking for the bottle I know has to be here somewhere – this was my _father's_ house after all – until I see the Bourbon.

I need something stronger than the wine… _much_ stronger if I'm to make it through all of this.

I pour myself a full glass, grab my phone and make my way towards the living room. The house suddenly feels damp and dark and completely dreary, so I decide to build a fire and, within a matter of moments, the room is dimly lit with its bright, flickering glow.

I lean against the mantle and pull my phone back out, scrolling through my contacts until I find her name. The four letters stare up at me, yelling at me, _taunting_ me and daring me to hit the call button. Would she even take the call at this point? Do I really want to talk to her? What would I even say?

The sound of music suddenly stops me. It freezes me in place and seeps into my skin. I literally absorb the notes and the flames and the moment until I am no longer here in this giant house, but back inside _our_ house. I am here with her and she is playing a record while I make dinner and it's two years ago and nothing has changed. She is mine and I am hers, unbroken and undamaged.

(Music playing) _"We broke everything that was right,_  
 _Both enjoyed a good fight…"_

"Do you remember that night by the river? When I asked you to tell me about your mom?"

She is suddenly standing behind me, speaking timidly, like whatever she's about to say next is a secret; the sound of the song plays overhead and carries from deep inside some other room. I slowly turn around and, when I see her, have to swallow. Her hair is damp, skin naturally flawless, and she is wearing an oversized button-down blue shirt that almost hides the hem of her white shorts underneath.

"I'm sorry," she says shyly. "I hope you don't mind. I just found them in a drawer upstairs. I'll return them."

I swallow again, unable to respond.

(Music playing) _"And I loved the way you looked at me,_  
 _And I miss the way you made me feel…"_

"I thought I'd put on my iPod," she points over her shoulder. "There was a dock in the other room. I'm sorry. I'll turn it off if you want..."

She is nervous and uncertain, probably about why I'm staring at her, looking like some thirteen year old boy who has never _really_ seen a girl before until now.

She's not trying though; she's not trying to make my heart race or my throat run dry or my skin feel like it's on fire by what she's wearing or by allowing the light of the fire to dance lazily across her skin. She never had to try.

I've seen her a thousand times before, and yet, for some reason tonight, it's like I've never really seen her at all.

Maybe it's my fault.

Maybe it's because I never allowed myself to see her as vulnerable. I never saw her as ever being nervous or scared or uncertain or, as she puts it, a mess. I never looked at her as a person who'd lost everyone she'd ever cared about, because she'd always been so full of life, love and laughter.

I'd never looked at her as someone who had no idea what she wanted out of life because she'd always seemed so perfectly put together. Even in times of quiet solitude, Elena had always just been Elena – mysterious and cryptic maybe, but never fearful or insecure.

Maybe I put her on a pedestal. Maybe she really was just my escape - a fantasy or a dream that I'd imagined. Maybe she was never real.

She was a brilliantly funny, lyrical reciting fantasy that always made me feel like the rest of the world never existed; like nothing could ever go wrong or nothing bad could ever happen as long as we were together.

(Music Playing) _"And if we turn back time,_  
 _Could we learn to live right?"*_

"Yes," I finally respond, attempting to get a grip. "The night by the river. I remember it."

She attempts a smile. "I never could understand your relationship with you dad, and even after everything you told me that night – about how he treated you and your mom? – I still just couldn't quite comprehend all of that… _hatred_ you had for him."

I shrug. "Well how could you? I mean look at this place," I insinuate around me. "He apparently only showed you his good side," I huff, taking a sip of my drink. "Who knew he even had one…"

She frowns.

"So tell me about him? My dad," I attempt to keep the hostility out of my tone. Despite how it sounds, I am genuinely curious. "He obviously knew enough about you to leave you in his will, tell you to find your way back to _me_ and refer to you as, what did he call it?" I smile, pretending to think back, "a 'world changer?' Not quite in so few words, but you get the gist."

She blushes slightly. "I honestly don't know why he said any of that," she says with a small shrug. "And I definitely didn't want or expect him to leave me anything. I promise," she hesitates. "I didn't try to manipulate your family, Damon. I would never do that."

"I know you wouldn't," I say, because I know it's true.

"The only thing I can think of is the time we spent together at the hospital. Remember I told you I was volunteering?"

I nod.

"When I started, it was just something to keep my mind off of everything going on with Jeremy – something I could do that would allow me to still be close to him, while also giving me something to keep from going crazy. I started working with the kids in the cancer center – all of them under the age of ten and all of them terminal. It honestly just made me want to cry everyday."

"Then why do it?"

"Because some days it was fun; most days it was worth it. I'd play music and we'd dance and sing. Some days I'd just read to them, or we'd take turns in putting on puppet shows and plays, or we'd just use our imaginations and envision worlds where things like cancer and sickness didn't exist." She pauses, reflecting on the memories and then smiles. "There was this one little girl, Riley. Six years old and already the strongest person I'd ever met. She was so full of life and had this optimistic spirit that was just absolutely contagious…"

I smile, knowing the feeling of being around someone like that.

"She had your dad completely wrapped around her finger."

I gawk at her for a moment, searching her eyes for truth in the story. I find it.

"The first day your dad met me, I was with her. I was teaching her how to use an old record player that had been donated to the center – she'd never seen one before and was so fascinated by it. We spent the entire morning playing the only album they had – Michael Jackson's Thriller album," she pauses to let out a small laugh. "I'm pretty sure she listened to it so many times she almost broke it, but by the end of the day she definitely had all the words down."

I can't help but smile at this, picturing Elena and the small girl singing and dancing to songs like Beat It and Thriller.

"Your dad didn't want to find me, Damon. And he certainly hadn't intended on sticking around after he'd done so. But, I don't know, something about being around Riley… it was like he kind of forgot that he had to get back to New York; kind of like he forgot that he hated me and didn't really want to be there… Riley got to him I think."

"You got to him," I finally acknowledge, recognizing that her kindness and compassion were too much for even my father to ignore. But she shakes her head.

"No. It was her. He even sent flowers and money to her family after she died," she says sadly.

I let out a long, slow breath. I am conflicted, like always, unsure of whether to feel deep sadness, compassion, or complete and utter resentment at my father's double life.

"Damon," she hesitates for several long moments. "It's okay for you to be upset. It's okay for you to yell at me… I think I need it. I think I deserve it. You've held it together pretty good… so I think now… it's okay for you to be upset."

Her words are strange and I shake my head and smile sarcastically, staring at her in astonishment. She knows me like a book. She knows that it's been literally killing me these past two days as I've attempted to fight back my deep, dark, bitter frustrations.

"Is it?" I question, finally stepping towards her. "Because with everything you've told me, I feel like a dick to say that I still hate him. I mean, Jesus, how is it possible that he was able to care about a complete stranger and connect with someone else so deeply, when he treated his own family like such shit?"

She has tears in her eyes. "I honestly don't know," she whispers. "Maybe he was just afraid."

"Afraid of what?" I nearly shout.

"Afraid that showing kindness or compassion might appear weak?" she offers. "I honestly don't know, Damon. I don't understand it at all and I'm so sorry."

"I just don't understand how you couldn't tell me…"

"I didn't want your family to tell you what was going on with Jeremy, and I think, for you dad… maybe that went both ways. We were just trying to help each other."

"You weren't helping me by cutting me out, Elena!" I shout, giving in to her request to yell as I take a step closer to her. "But since we're finally back on the subject, how about you start telling the truth for once! Why the hell did you leave? And don't you dare blame it on your brother!" The volume in my tone grows louder as my wall of sympathy and civility I've held together all day finally crumbles.

"Why didn't you call? Why didn't you _text_? How could you just move to New York and not even reach out to me? How could you be in contact with _my_ family, accepting _their_ help, and not want to see _me_?" The questions are falling rapidly, like daggers that stab us both with their double-edged blade.

"I already told you,"

"That's not good enough, Elena!" I cut her off.

Tears form in her eyes again and she quickly begins to turn away in order to avoid me, but I won't let that happen. I grab her wrist and turn her back around, forcing her to acknowledge me. I can feel her pulse racing against my thumb and see the hurt and despair all over her face, but it won't effect me. She can't get off the hook that easy anymore. Besides, _she's_ the one that told me to yell.

"I have to know, Elena," I attempt, slightly calmer. "I need you to tell me that you never loved me, better yet that you fucking hated me. Tell me that you never saw a future with me and that everything we ever had was a lie. Please, tell me something that will make hating you easier, _anything_ that will help me make sense of losing you. At least then, after all this time, maybe, I'll finally be able to let you go."

Tears fall down her cheek now, steadfast and unwavering. She looks up into my eyes, letting out a shallow and tear-filled shaky breath. "Is that really what you think?"

I nod and attempt to swallow, but my throat is bone dry. She is only a few inches from my face and all my senses seem to be confused on whether or not to wipe her tears, continue yelling or just hold her in my arms for as long as humanly possible. I hate myself for this.

"I've thought about you ever single second of every single day since I left, Damon…. I could never hate you."

My name on her lips is sweet and simultaneously poisonous, killing me slowly with every syllable. "Then why did you leave, Elena? I have to know."

Her hand, whose wrist I still hold, moves up to touch my chest. Her fingers somewhat clinch around my t-shirt, sending that familiar shock of electricity running down my spine. "I loved you so much, Damon," she whispers, killing me again as she looks down so that her forehead is almost pressed against my chest. "I'm not sure I ever stopped."

I feel helplessly trapped, desperately wanting to pull away, but stuck in place as I struggle for breath. I fight to form the words and the strength to pull away. And, sadly enough, I finally do, abruptly releasing her arm in the process.

"No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to say those words just so you can pull me back in and make me forget about everything that's happened. It doesn't work that way."

She stands in place as I walk back across the room, putting as much distance between us as possible.

"I was scared, okay?" She finally shouts, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Is that what you want to hear me say?"

" _Scared_? Scared or _what_?" I demand.

"Of everything! I pulled you away from a mother that depended on you and a brother that needed you and a father that, despite whatever you thought, just wanted you by his side! He loved you, Damon!"

"You do _not_ get to tell me about my own father, Elena!" I point at her, anger spewing from my voice. "I don't care how long you spent with him or what the fuck he left you or how well you think you knew him, you have absolutely no idea what my life growing up with him was like and you do _not_ get to tell _me_ about my relationship with him!"

"You just ran away, Damon!"

"Because of you! I ran away because of you!"

"And I wanted you to! I wanted you to be here with me forever. I wanted _us_ to last forever, but I wanted it to be in the right way! I wanted you to make things right with you parents, not just run away from them! And what about your brother? You once told me that he was your best friend! Do you remember the _one_ time he visited? God, all you did was fight with him the entire time and it was because of _me_!"

"This is ridiculous," I spit, running a hand through my hair as I begin to pace. "I did all of those things for you, Elena! For us! And if I remember correctly, it was _you_ who told me to quit my job and move here, remember?"

"Because I wanted you to be happy!"

"I _was_ happy, Elena! I was happy with _you_!"

She is silent, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she attempts to breathe. "That last night?" She finally begins, "The night we got in that fight?… I could feel it. I just knew. Resentment was everywhere. It was in every look you gave me and every word you said…."

I attempt to counter, but she continues.

"You missed your old life. You missed the city and your old house and your old friends. You said you were now just the 'has-been lawyer' with the 'prestigious' degree, waiting on 'drunken idiots' and wiping down bars," she says with finger quotes and all.

"Elena, I didn't mean any of,"

"You missed your family, Damon. I _know_ you did."

I am quiet for a moment, wanting to argue but not sure what to say. It's hard to admit, knowing that saying it out loud means that I actually _did_ care enough about my family to recognize the pain I was causing them.

I can't admit it because to say it out loud means that my father's control over my life extended far past just the realms of the authoritative boss and parental figure I'd come to know… but to a level of _genuine_ concern. And there's nothing like the type of control that comes from the guilt of purposely hurting a parent – even the ones who deserve it.

"I was scared and I wasn't thinking straight, okay?" She says softly. "Between what was happening with my brother and between the idea that my absolute worst fear of you resenting me was coming true… I just couldn't handle it. So I did the worst possible thing that I could do and… I left."

"You said that the fight had nothing to do with why you left," I counter, my voice low and unstable.

"The fight didn't come out of nowhere, Damon," she attempts a smile. "I'd felt your restlessness growing for months… And regardless, all I was really thinking about at that time was my brother. I was telling you the truth - I mainly left because of _him_ … and I don't regret that… It's just what I did to you… That's the part that I still lose sleep over."

"Good…. I'm glad," I say bitterly, still feeling resentful and angry and not in the least bit any closer to being okay.

I begin to pace again, this time for several moments, attempting to dial back my resurfacing desire to continue yelling.

"I was stupid okay? I made a bad decision and I admit it," she starts again.

"Is that supposed to make it okay?"

"No of course not!" She shouts pleadingly. "I told you, Damon, I'm a mess! My music, my life, my job… it was _always_ messy…. _I_ was always messy," she hesitates, "but we never were… "

I watch as a tear falls down her cheek, and I feel my heart beginning to race as she takes slow steps towards me. "You were the only thing I ever had in my life that seemed to make the mess disappear. When I was with you, when we were together… everything just felt complete. You were the only one who could put me back together and help me make sense of this ridiculously, unfair world. With you, everything was always clear…. And then I went and screwed it up…. And, I'll never be able to take it back and that absolutely kills me, Damon. What I did to you has haunted me every day since the moment I walked away…. And I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am or how much I regret it. If I could take it back I would… but I can't. And I hate that I can't. More than anything…"

I've been holding on so tightly to her words, that I barely notice the soft touch of her hand as it finds mine. It's the second time today I notice she's trembling, but unlike back at the lake, there's nothing I can do to help relieve it because, for whatever reason, my hands are shaking too.

"I wanted to call you, but," she swallows, remaining frozen in her spot as she looks up, allowing me to look into her eyes. I've never seen so much fear in them.

"Your mom told me you were seeing someone," she says softly. "When I'd finally gathered the strength to call you, she told me you were seeing someone and that you seemed to be happy and that maybe I should just give it some time…."

My heart is racing with her every word. There is pleading and desperation in her statement, even though; it's not really a statement at all. It's a question.

It's the most difficult question she's ever asked me, and I am unsure how to respond, knowing that my answer will be the official detonation to whatever tiny fragments remain of our relationship.

The sound of the kitchen timer is suddenly filling up the room, breaking the deafening silence and steel tension. I don't know if I'm thankful or resentful for the interruption.

She remains frozen as I release her hand and make my way back into the kitchen to save our dinner from burning. Despite the purpose of this entire evening, I'm not in the least bit hungry.

I set the pizza on the counter and turn off the oven, and then, promptly walk out and make my way towards the French doors in the dining room. I quickly tear them open until I feel the rush of fresh, cool evening air on my face. I allow it to wash over me, hoping it will cool my skin that still burns from her touch… hoping it will calm my nerves and give me the strength I need to think clearly.

Elena approaches. I hear her sigh and lean against the doorframe. She is steadily watching me, her eyes locked on the back of my neck, threatening to burn a hole right through me.

We stand in silence, both unsure what to do, both fearful of saying the wrong thing.

Her apologetic and tearful words of regret, sleepless nights and fearful recollections; her accusations of my resentment and unintentional longing for my old life – they all ring in my ears, forcing me to confront and acknowledge all of our old demons.

Maybe we were both at fault. Maybe I made mistakes too… But,

"I never would have left you," I say out loud, surprising both of us. I stare up at the sky, watching the stars, prolonging turning around. "I messed up too, Elena. You're right, I did miss my old life… and yeah, maybe in the most screwed up, unconventional way possible…. maybe I even missed my family and I'm sorry if I ever took that out on you… But," I hesitate, finally turning around. "I never would have left you."

She looks at my eyes and then down at her feet. She is quiet for a long time before finally nodding her head. "I know."

Silence follows for another minute, as we both take in my confession.

"Damon?" She says, finally looking back up at me. "I know it's none of my business and I know you don't owe me anything anymore, but… I just have to know… Is there someone else?"

Her voice is so small, so shallow and so fearful that I can hardly stand it.

It's strange. All I've thought about over the last year is finding a way to hurt her in the same way she hurt me, but now that the opportunity is here, I just can't bring myself to do it.

"Why does it matter?" I finally say.

"Because," she begins, but stops just as quickly.

"Because, _why_ , Elena?"

A tear falls from her eyes, and in the most tender, most fragile voice that I've ever heard come out of her mouth, she says, "Because I need to know if I'm too late…. Because… I still love you…. and I need to know if it's really over."

My heart is racing out of my chest.

"I still love you, Damon."

I have absolutely no idea what happens next. It's almost as if time is standing completely still.

I'm not sure what thoughts cross my mind, or why my heart feels like it just got shocked with 10,000 volts of electricity, or what the hell has suddenly gotten into my feet, but they are quickly moving towards her.

Before I know what is happening, my hands are on her face and my lips are on her lips, and we are crashing together all at once.

She doesn't hesitate, quickly wrapping her arms around my neck and intertwining her fingers into my hair as I move a hand to her back. We melt together and fall in sync; easily finding that mind-altering, head-spinning high that can only comes from a kiss like this.

Her lips are beautiful and familiar, her tongue sweetly laced with mint and red wine. She smells like honey and lavender and I want to breathe her in over and over again.

All my senses have completely disappeared. The world has faded away. She is like life and I am being awoken from a lifeless state I didn't know I was in.

My hands run through her damp hair, gently tugging as I move down to kiss her jaw and neck. The low moan that falls from her mouth is enough to set me on fire. I find her lips again as my hand anxiously tugs at her shirt, before it finds its way down to her leg. My fingertips lightly brush the back of her bare thigh, and I can't help but notice that she's shaking.

This makes me want her. With every touch and every caress of her skin against mine, I grow hungrier, wanting her more and more.

I reach down, lifting her up until she is in my arms, her legs straddling my waist.

My mind falls back to two years ago again. Nothing has changed. We are the same two people, attempting to outrun a storm. The same two people attempting to forget the rest of the world, as I carry her towards the kitchen and, once again, set her down on the countertop.

Our lips do not stray from one another, each kiss growing more heated and more urgent as I stand between her thighs.

The feeling of her is so intoxicating, so completely mind-numbing, that I have no idea how my brain manages to do what it does next.

Something about the feeling of her fingertip tracing below the waistline of my jeans; something about the way my hand is resting on her inner thigh; something about this wonderful, strangely familiar, yet _unfamiliar_ sensation, suddenly feels… completely wrong.

Out of nowhere, the guilt comes crashing in like a freight train, running me over at a hundred miles per hour.

Rose.

Oh my God, Rose.

What the fuck have I done?

Nothing has changed…. except… everything.

Everything has changed and I am a terribly horrible, cheating bastard. Fuck.

"Wait," I pull away. "Elena, stop." She is breathless and confused. We are both so winded and lightheaded, I'm not sure we'll ever catch our breath. It's like being drunk or high off a substance that is _literally_ impossible to come down from.

"What's wrong?" She breathes, still clinging to the hem of my t-shirt.

'Everything,' I want to say. I literally feel sick.

"Elena, I'm engaged."

The words fall out of my mouth so rapidly, so _pathetically_ , it's a wonder I still have any words left at all.

Her face falls.

She is frozen - immobile, stunned and speechless.

Her hand drops from my shirt, falling away as though it just lost all mobility. Her entire body is now tense and rigid and her jaw has dropped slightly. Her eyes are filled with everything from disbelief and betrayal, to hurt and utter despair.

Suddenly, I'm not the only one who looks physically sick. She literally looks like I just stabbed her in the heart… and it's absolutely killing me.

I attempt to touch her arm, but she quickly pulls away.

"I'm sorry," I say.

She begins to straighten up, combing her fingers through her hair and fixing a few of the opened buttons on her top. I pull away from her as she slides down off of the countertop and attempts to walk away. She doesn't make it very far though before stopping and turning back to face me. Her hand is on her mouth, which is slightly agape, and tears are forming in her eyes. She looks as though she wants to say something, but has no idea what it would be or how to start or if there's even anything _to_ say.

I suddenly hate myself. I hate what I've done - both to Elena and Rose.

"I should probably go," she whispers.

I have no idea why I'm nodding my head. It's the absolute last thing that I want.

I stand in place, watching as she quickly makes her way into the next room to collect her clothes, bag and iPod. When she returns, she runs a hand through her hair, and I notice she's shaking. She's making every effort not to look at me, and it's killing me.

"I'm sorry, Elena," I say again.

She shakes her head, doing her best to put on a fake smile through tears. "Don't be. I should have known you'd moved on. I'd expected it."

"I shouldn't have let things happen. I shouldn't have let them get that far. I should have told you."

She is making her way towards the door, my heart breaking with every step she takes.

"You should have told me," she acknowledges, "But… I get why you didn't… You didn't owe me anything, Damon." She opens the door, but pauses before walking out, leaning her head against it. She shakes her head, looking like she's in actual pain. "God, this sucks."

I can't help it. I pull her back over to me, wrapping my arms around her as I rest my head on hers. I want to breathe her in just one more time; I want her to help me erase the world for just one more second so I can forget about what I've done and the inevitable consequences that will surely follow.

She lets out a soft sob as she holds on to me, her hands clinging to the back of my t-shirt for dear life. This is it and we both know it. This is the end. We will never see each other again after this moment.

I will never again hear the sound of her laugh or the melody of her music as it seeps into my skin; I will never again breathe in the smell of honey and lavender or taste the mint on her tongue.

I have to get back to my life and she hers. I have to begin to fix the relationship that I've just so royally fucked up.

She releases me and I her.

Her hand brushes against my arm one last time, searing my skin, before I watch her walk across the porch, down the front steps and towards the Jeep.

As she climbs inside, my head is rushing, desperately searching for any last thing to say, any last words, any reason at _all_ to delay her.

I do.

"Elena," I say, suddenly rushing down the front steps after her. She stops, her hands steadily attempting to grip the wheel, before she turns to face me. "Just tell me one last thing," I say, sticking my head inside the opened window and gripping onto the edge of the door. "What did Jeremy's letter say?"

I quickly realize that it's none of my business and that I probably had no right to ask, but she's already pulled me in and I'm already in so far over my head that I'm desperate. I have to know.

She seems stunned. Not that I asked her, but that she only just now remembered.

In the next few seconds that follow, something strange happens. A new-formed conviction seems to take place on her face and, as the moonlight catches her eyes, there is the presence of recognition, understanding and – if I'm not mistaking – clarity.

"He said that I should fight for you." She says suddenly, her voice the calmest it's been all night. She pauses, studying my face for a reaction. She must find it. "And I think that maybe… I will."

And just like that, she turns on the ignition. I'm forced to let go of the vehicle and take a step back, feeling completely stunned, as she begins to pull away.

I realize that I'm still standing in the driveway several minutes later, frozen in place, disbelief scattered across my face, as I continue to stare off into the distance at the place where she disappeared.

I have no idea what just happened. One minute I thought we were saying goodbye and the next, my heart is once again racing out of my chest in pure and utter confusion.

I start to think that maybe, just _maybe_ …Stefan was right.

I'm in trouble.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading! xx**

 **Songs for this chapter:  
** Shiver – Lucy Rose **  
**


	8. Cadence

**I know these updates take forever, so I just wanted to again apologize for the delay. But please rest assured, I am always writing. :) I attempt to write at least a 1000 words a day, but the problem is that sometimes I veer off into other chapters, projects, or just get stuck on editing. I know it's frustrating to wait so long, but please believe me when I promise you that I _will_ finish this story. I'm far too emotionally invested in it to just abandon it. :) **

**As always, thank you all so much for your reviews! They mean the world to me and are appreciated far more than you can imagine. Thanks again, and enjoy!**

* * *

 **Cadence  
** _You're turning my world upside down_  
 _Can't get you off of my mind_  
 _And it's driving me crazy_  
 _-_ Fractures **  
**

* * *

The days that follow are a blur.

I don't remember the flight back to New York, but it must have happened, for I am somehow thrown back into my mundane routine of early morning meetings, pretrial conferences, Bourbon filled lunches, and long afternoon-turned-evenings of sifting through paperwork – mountains and _mountains_ of paperwork.

It's been four days since my return from Charleston and I am a mess in every way possible.

I am behind as fuck at work and, for the first time in a long time, at risk of losing a very big case. There have been few occasions in which I've ever advised against taking a plea deal, but this is one of those rare times in which I know, without a shout of a doubt, that my client is innocent. But with that knowledge comes not only a strict _obligation_ to win, but also the agonizingly heavy sense of personal responsibility.

And then there's my personal life, which is literally in shambles.

Rose won't return any of my calls - even though her London assistant always assures me that she's receiving them. I suppose, maybe it's for the best. There's no way I can possibly attempt to explain myself over the phone, and until I confess, I know I'll be completely useless for casual conversation. Besides, I'm sure it would take her all of three minutes to detect my guilt and expose me for what I've done - I'm a great liar, but not when it comes to her.

A dimly lit lamp currently illuminates the surface of my desk, but the rest of my office is dark. I glance at my watch, which reads a quarter 'til 10, and run a hand across my face and through my hair, feeling worn-down and exhausted.

The outside hallway is lit, allowing a few inches of light to sneak across the entryway and spill over into my office, and also indicating the late-night presence of several of my colleagues.

This is our life, I suppose. For some sick, twisted, ambitiously driven reason, we all chose 80-hour workweeks and non-existent personal lives. For money, fast cars, power, recognition maybe?… I don't know. I suppose everyone has their list of reasons, but for me, it was always just about family and the obligations that come with them.

As dysfunctional as it was – still is I guess - the work always meant something to me because I had Stefan and Giuseppe… to annoy, to argue with, to brag to, to compete with…. I don't know.

In some ways, it was always kind of a game. A weird game of: 'how can I get under dad's skin today?' or 'how can I prove him wrong this week?' or 'what prank can Ric and I play on Stefan to send him into complete freak-out mode this time?'

I chuckle, thinking back to the time we perfectly rigged an air horn behind Stefan's door so that every time he opened it, it made the most horrifically, obnoxious sound and caused him to spill coffee all over himself; or the time we re-assembled his keyboard and planted seeds inside to make it sprout grass – I laugh out loud thinking back to all of the excuses we had to tell him to get him out of his office so we could 'water his keyboard.' Or, the time we hired a contractor to assist us in actually _suspending_ all of his furniture to the ceiling, and then, when he finally got it back down, realized that everything was covered in saran wrap. To this day, that remains one of the most revered pranks in the office.

I let out a long sigh as I look around the room. Maybe Elena was right… maybe I did miss it all.

Maybe I just missed the feeling of winning - the feeling of being the most charismatically charming, intellectually argumentative person in the room; the feeling of _owning_ the courtroom as the judge and jury held onto my every, carefully selected word.

I used to be good at this – the late nights and long hours of research – knowing that in the end, it would always be worth it. The look of relief on my client's faces… the press, the office high-fives, the small smile and pats on the back from Stefan…. the minuscule, complacent head nod from Giuseppe that he never wanted me to notice, but that I somehow always managed to notice – together, they all made it worth it.

But now I'm not so sure…. I'm honestly not sure about anything.

'Maybe I will.'

Elena's words have been sounding through my mind like a broken record. 'Maybe I will,' _what_? Fight for me? Come back to New York? What does that even mean? There's nothing left of us to fight for… is there?

No, of course not. We're over. She knows that. We _both_ know that….

Suddenly, I'm flooded with memories of her skin against mine; her lips pressed to my ear, mine to her neck; her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands in my hair, mine on the small of her back, the feeling of the thin fabric of her shirt between my fingertips just begging to be ripped away…

God, I have to get a grip.

I bury my head in my hands as guilt threatens to pull me under again.

For four days, she has consumed me. I've tried every which way to focus on my work and my clients and forget about what happened in Charleston. I've tried like crazy to turn my attention back to New York and my life here with Ric and Stefan and Caroline and Lily… not to mention my future _wife_.

Rose doesn't deserve this. Not one bit.

She has always been faithful. She was there for me during a time when my world was dark, empty and meaningless, and despite everything, she was the only one able to pull me out of the Elena-less… _depression_ …. I'd found myself in. For a long time, she'd been my only reason to pull myself out of bed and confide in anyone outside a bottle of gin.

My life with Rose is easy.

We are both career driven and ambitious, but not so much that it overpowers our lives or our relationship. We are both strong-willed and decisive, but also compassionate and understanding of the other.

There is no mystery behind her intentions or guessing games in our conversations. There is no secrecy or cryptic journals, nor are there unexpected surprises, hidden meanings behind lyrics, or unspoken fears of coming home to one day find her gone.

Our life together is safe. We have a plan, a _roadmap_ even, and know exactly where we will be in five, ten, twenty years from now. With her, things are not complicated. They are stable and dependable.

Or, at least, they were…

"Does your fiancé know you're in love with another woman?"

I quickly look away from the picture of Rose on my desk that I've been mindlessly staring at for several minutes, to look up at the woman who is currently parading into my office. I groan in irritation and quickly resume my focus back to my work in an attempt to ignore her.

"What do you want, Katherine?"

I can feel her smile – that devilish, mischievous smile that's won her hundreds of cases and broken even more hearts – as she weasels her way around to the other side of my desk and props herself up onto it.

"Oh come on, I saw the way you were looking at me at dinner," she smiles, crossing her legs, as she leans her hands back across the desk. "I know you still think about me."

"Oh, Katherine," I lean back in my chair to look at her, a sarcastic smirk across my lips. "If only you were as attractive as you are delusional."

Her face grows pouty. "Why are you always so mean to me?"

"Because you're a bitch," I say flatly, resuming my work to scan over a new document.

She grins. "That used to be your favorite thing about me."

"Yeah, well, times change."

"That much is clear," she grins, continuing to watch me. "Still working on the Donovan case?"

"Yup," I say, not looking up.

"Need some help?"

"Nope."

"Oh come on," she drags out. "Let me help. It'll be fun. We used to make such a good team, remember? Office power couple and all. Don't you miss it?"

"Not even a little."

She pouts again.

"Don't you have some merger you're supposed to be working on? What are you doing in here?" I finally look up.

She shrugs. "I needed a break. Mason think's he's the one calling the shots in there," she nods towards the other room. "I'm just giving him some time to realize that he's _not_." She clicks the 't' and shakes her head. "He's such an arrogant prick sometimes."

I smirk. "Finally. Something we can both agree on."

She returns my smile, but then falls silent. She watches me for a moment and I can't help but notice that something about her seems to change. It's almost like watching a wall of poised confidence and snarky charm fall down all at once.

"It sucks about Giuseppe, Damon. I didn't get the chance to tell you at the funeral, and you haven't been around much since, so I just wanted to catch you now and say… I'm sorry."

I nod and turn away from her. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk and my head on my laced hands. It's one of the only times in the last month that any words of condolences regarding my father have actually affected me – not because it's coming from Katherine, far from it. It's just that right now, in this particularly strange moment of reflection and inadvertent timing, it's the first time I've actually allowed myself dwell on the fact that he's really gone and, even further, that I might even miss him.

"Things certainly won't be the same around here without him," she continues, swinging her crossed ankles casually. "But hey, at least you've still got me."

"At least," I retort with sarcasm.

I don't know why this makes us both smile - I'm not amused - but it feels nice to fall back into our normal combative bickering.

Katherine and I have never seen eye-to-eye on much, and for the most part - with the exception of our past few, but extremely hot, late-night rendezvous – we've pretty much despised one another. But for some inexplicable reason that's completely foreign to me, I do respect her. Unlike me, she's never had a doubt in her mind that being a corporate lawyer is what she was born to do and, like it or not, she's damn good at it.

The light suddenly flicks on and we are both caught off guard. "It's a good thing I'm such a trusting sidekick or otherwise this might look really, _really_ bad."

I look up to see Ric now standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, a huge, taunting grin across his face. It's the second time tonight that jabs of indiscretions have been made in my direction and, even though I know my secrets are my own, I feel my heart racing as it threatens to give me away.

Katherine smirks at him before removing herself from my desk and walking back around it. She looks over at me from the other side and then, without prompting, turns to grab a file on my desk labeled 'Lorenzo Mariani,' a file I'd tossed aside weeks ago when a rational alibi for his whereabouts on the night of the murder had suddenly surfaced. I hadn't given him two thoughts since.

"Read it again," she says with certainty, sliding the file towards me. "I think you'll find you may have missed something."

She turns and begins to walk away, but I stop her. "Wait."

She is grinning as she slowly spins back around on her heels. Her playful arrogance and mischievous demeanor have returned just as quickly as they disappeared.

"What do you know?"

She sighs and looks at her nails, as though considering on whether or not to tell me, but finally does.

"I know that on the night of December 2nd," she says coolly, "three eye witnesses claim they saw Lorenzo Mariani at that sleazy bar in the East Village, despite the fact that his fingerprints were found all over the victims apartment the next day."

I shrug indifferent. "They were friends. He's already admitted to being there a few days earlier."

"I also know that there's a bank across the street from that bar."

I'm silent for a moment, taking in her words, as understanding slowly registers across my face. I shake my head in disbelief, completely shocked that I could have missed such a crucial, game-changing point. "There's a camera," I say barely above a whisper.

She grins and winks before turning to walk out. "You're welcome."

I watch her strut past Ric, who watches in amusement, before rounding the corner and heading back down the hall towards the conference room where I'm sure Mason is eagerly awaiting her return. I don't know what makes me step out after her, but my feet are suddenly moving and the next thing I know I'm calling her name.

"Katherine," I say, hating what I'm about to ask.

She stops and rotates around again, her feet looking like a ballerina's in a music box.

"On the off chance that I can't see this thing through… and on the very, _very_ off chance that I transfer the case to, I don't know, someone like you…. "

"I'd win it," she finishes, not so much as batting an eyelash or hinting at a smirk. She is confident and certain, and suddenly, so am I.

I nod with appreciation in her direction, marking the end of our conversation, as she turns to resume her walk down the hall. I turn back to face Ric, whose mouth is hanging open in complete disbelief at what he just witnessed. I ignore him and move back inside my office, shutting the door behind me, as I begin to pace.

"Are you crazy?"

"I kissed Elena." The words fall rapidly and I have no idea where they came from. I don't turn to look at Ric, but I can feel his look of shock behind me.

I think I've officially reached a breaking point and Katherine's _obvious_ discovery to a piece of the puzzle I'd so _stupidly_ missed seems to have been the final push I'd needed to fall over the edge.

"You did _what_?" He asks dumfounded.

"Don't do that," I stop, turning to face him. "Don't act so surprised with that whole 'Go get her, _buddy_!' thing."

He starts to laugh. "I didn't think you'd take me serious. Besides, that nights a little fuzzy for me."

I lean against my desk and cross my arms. "I really messed up."

He shrugs and then suddenly grins. "Jo left her fiancé."

I look up at him, a slight look of annoyance on my face. "What?"

"Yeah," he chuckles. "She left him. We're going on our first 'date' this Friday," he says with air quotes.

"Why the air quotes?"

"Because she says she's not ready to jump into a new relationship so soon, which I totally respect, but… come on, it's totally a date, right?"

"Hello! We're supposed to be talking about my problems here, remember? I nearly slept with my ex-girlfriend and we're talking about you and Jo?"

"Kind of the same thing," he laughs again. "Wait, you nearly _slept_ with her?"

"Not the same thing! And… No!...Yes…I don't know… Maybe."

I run a hand through my hair again, feeling more confused than ever.

"Well did you _want_ to sleep with her?"

"Not the point."

"It kind of is."

I shake my head, feeling frustrated by Ric's lack of support in all of this. "We just got caught up in a moment. It didn't mean anything."

"It didn't?"

"Please stop," I glare at him, shaking my head. "You're not helping."

He shrugs. "Right after you left that night – like literally, within moments of you leaving - I kissed Jo. We promised we'd never talk about it again, but then the very next day, she ended things with her fiancé. Something like that has to mean something, right?"

"Are we talking about you and Jo here, or me and Elena?"

He smiles. "Both."

I shake my head. "This is different. I just fucked everything up with Rose. She's never going to forgive me for this."

"Look, my point is," he says, stepping towards me, "If you want to be with Elena, it's really pretty simple - just be with her! If not, let her go, fix things with Rose, and then, pray like hell she'll forgive you."

"It's _not_ that simple and you know it."

He laughs again. "No, it really is."

We are both silent for a moment, and I watch as he makes his way over to the bar cart across my office to pour us each a drink. I nod in appreciation as he hands it to me.

"So are you going to tell me what the hell that was all about just now?" He tilts his head, indicating towards Katherine again.

I shrug and take a sip from my glass. "I'm just not sure I'm the right person for this case anymore."

"And you think _she_ is? Come on, Damon. It's not like you to ever pass up a case like this – especially to someone like Katherine. What the hell is going on?"

"Donovan _needs_ to win. And I'm just not sure I'm the right person to make that happen right now."

He studies me for several moments, silently understanding me in a way that only a best friend can. "She really got to you, didn't she?"

I pause and look down at the drink in my hand. "She said she wants to fight for us…"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I have no idea."

"Well is that what you want?"

"Of course not," I answer, maybe too quickly.

"Because it's no secret that Elena almost destroyed you. I mean, she literally crushed you and completely broke your,"

"I get it, Ric," I interrupt, feeling annoyed.

"My point is, it's okay if you don't want to go through any of that again. I get it. She hurt you… but," he hesitates, "I guess I'm also saying that, as a friend who will be here for you even if it ends with you throwing record players across the room again, it's also okay if you do…"

I take a large sip of my drink, finishing it off, as I allow his words to sink in. "I have to tell Rose…"

"Yeah," he nods. "You do."

I let out a long sigh before finally setting down my glass and moving back behind my desk to reach for my coat.

"You heading out?" Ric asks, watching me. "We can always head down to the bar for another round if you want?"

I shake my head. "No. I think I just need to go home. Take some time to clear my head for a bit."

"Sure," he nods before sitting down his own glass and heading back towards the door.

"Hey, Ric," I stop him just as he's about to exit and attempt to give him a smile. "I'm happy for you. Keep me posted, k?"

He nods his head in appreciation and adds a cheeky grin. "You too."

I roll my eyes, but smile anyway. It's nice to know that at the end of all of this, even if I lose everyone and everything I've ever cared about, at least there will be one person left who still has my back.

As I make my way out of the office and hail a cab, I can't help but wonder what's happened to the city. Maybe it's the voices in my head, the sounds of my racing thoughts, or maybe it's just the loud noise associated with a guilty conscience, but the world around me feels distant, quiet and far away.

The drive back to my penthouse is long and leaves me wishing I had taken Ric up on his offer to venture out for another drink. For the second time in my life, I am feeling both lost and aimless, and wishing that there were any other place to return home to.

From the backseat, I glance up at the driver, and am quickly pulled back to the memory of Ray. I suddenly have the strangest urge to ask him to take me to Ashley Avenue, or maybe Blu's, or maybe even the small dock behind the house on Arctic Avenue – or, any place really, where I know I might possibly find her again.

But Ray is gone and so is Elena.

When we finally stop in front of my building, I pay the fare and reluctantly make my way inside – ignoring Tom as I pass him, and climb inside the elevator until I am once again on my floor.

But when I turn the key and finally step inside, I notice that something is off.

I sit my keys and jacket down on the kitchen bar, and quickly spot a bottle of red wine that's been opened and is sitting in the center. There's a strange, unfamiliar scent of a woman's perfume lurking in the entryway – nothing that Rose would ever wear, and certainly not Elena – letting me know that whoever opened the bottle is somewhere near, and belongs to no one that I'm currently in the mood to see.

I make my way into the living room, looking around for the person I suspect to see, and am quickly proven right.

My mother sits on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, a glass of red wine in her hand, and what appears to be an old photo album spread in front of her. She doesn't look up at me, but continues to look down at the photos. She must sense my presence though, because she smiles and says, "Do you remember this? Our summer vacation out to the Hamptons? You must have been about five here. Your father taught you how to swim that summer."

"More like threw me in," I huff, feeling irritated. "What are you doing here? And what are you doing with that?"

"What? This?" She looks at me, holding up the album. "I found it in your father's old desk this morning. I just had to share it with you."

"No," I shake my head, moving towards her to remove the glass of wine from her hand. " _This_."

She attempts to take it back, put I hold it out of reach. "It's just one glass, Damon. It won't kill me."

I ignore her, letting out a long, annoyed sigh, as I turn back towards the kitchen and pour it out. I've been my mother's keeper for as long as I can remember, but I had hoped - with her last rehab visit and all - she'd have at least begun to make some progress. But I guess I'm not the only one who's chosen this particular night to dwell on the past.

"You know better than me that one glass is all it takes."

She looks like she wants to argue, or maybe even call me a hypocrite –despite the fact that alcohol has never affected me the way it has her - but with some added effort, she refrains. Instead, she touches my cheek and attempts to give me a soft, reassuring smile. I resist the urge to pull away. She then takes my hand and begins to guide me back into the living room.

"Come here. I want to show you something."

"Why are you here?" I repeat. "Don't you have, I don't know, at least three other houses you could possibly be in right now?"

The tightening grip of her hand on mine lets me know that my words hurt her, but she again doesn't respond. Instead, we move to the couch, where we both sit this time, and I watch as she picks up the photo album and places it on her lap.

She turns it over a few pages, smiles, and then points to a picture. My eyes watch as her face lights up, and then follow to where her finger has landed beside a faded photograph of Stefan and myself sitting at a piano. He's probably five and I am maybe ten. Stefan appears to be fascinated by the sounds he's hearing and is completely engaged in the practice of pressing random keys. I look irritated and bored out of my skull.

"Do you remember this?" She smiles.

"If by remember, you mean positively _hate_ the day you forced us into taking piano lessons, then the answer is yes. I think I lasted, oh, maybe twenty minutes?"

"Less actually," she grins. "But do you know what I remember?"

I look over at her. "Hmm?"

"The way you defended your brother's right to learn when Giuseppe said that 'no sons of his would ever have any need to learn an instrument,'" her voice imitates his raspy voice, before she resumes a smile. "You said that if Stefan wanted to learn to play the piano, then he should learn to play the piano because dad's opinion didn't matter," she finishes, looking over at me. "You were always standing up to him. Even way back then."

"Someone had to," I say, softly.

She frowns before slowly closing the album. "I knew then that you were stronger than me. I knew then that you would grow up to become your own person, someone who would form their own thoughts and opinions about the world; someone who'd make their own stubborn, independent decisions, but... would also somehow manage to always do the right thing." She smiles and looks into my eyes. "I also knew that you'd always find a way to protect your brother - no matter who you were having to stand up to. I was proud of you that day, Damon. I still am."

I shake my head. "It didn't seem to matter though, did it? I mean, I'm right here, exactly where he always wanted me to be. Not much to be proud of."

"Are you kidding?" she smiles warmly. "Damon, you've put your entire life on hold to make sure that your brother and I were okay. You've always sacrificed your own happiness for us."

"Not always," I think of my year away, and my time spent reveling in the freedom of being so far removed from my family. Still though, despite how hard I tried, it obviously wasn't enough to fool Elena….

"You had a right to disappear when you did. I was in rehab, Stefan had just gotten promoted, your father wasn't… entirely…. unbearable. You had the right to finally be happy, Damon."

I don't say anything, so she continues.

"I'm sorry I checked out on you. All those years…" she shakes her head, her eyes becoming misty. "You didn't deserve that. No one deserves that… and, I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am… or how thankful I am that Stefan had you."

I study her face for a moment. There is no doubt she is my mother – her long dark hair, pale skin and blue eyes. We are the spitting image of one another and alike in more ways than I care to admit. We share the similar burden of loving and hating someone in equal measure; we share the confliction of wanting lives we can't have due to the obligations we must follow. But above all else, we share pride – pride in knowing that sometimes it's easier to stay, rather than risk the unknown, possibly lethal path, of walking away.

"I'm sorry," she smiles again, wiping a tear from her eye. "Believe it or not, I didn't come here to get all weepy and sentimental on you."

For the first time all evening, I return her smile. "So why did you?"

"Because," she grins, standing up, "I have something for you."

I watch as she makes her way over to the kitchen table, reaches inside her purse and pulls from it a white envelope. For some reason, the sight catches me off guard and suddenly forces my heart into a familiar racing pattern. I have no idea how I know, but somehow, I do – the envelope is from Elena.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to give you this or not. And… I won't if you don't want me to."

"How did you get that?" I ask, leaning forward.

"She didn't have your address…. And since I seem to be the worlds worst for giving out addresses when I probably shouldn't, I decided that I should probably check with you first. She sent it to me yesterday."

"Mom, you can't keep communicated with Elena…" I sigh, my eyes not moving from the envelope in her hand. "I have a fiancé named Rose, remember her?"

"I know that," she nods, suddenly looking nervous. "And this will be the last time, I promise. It's just that… she seemed rather desperate to reach you and wanted to make sure you got this. Something about how," she clears her throat, "she felt bad about the way you left things the other day…"

It's a question, not a statement, and I give in.

"I went to see her… you knew that I would. It's why you gave me the address in the first place…"

"I just wanted you to be able to make your own decision. I wasn't trying to pry, or to push you… I just thought you needed to know."

"I needed to know a year ago," I say, my tone increasing. I attempt to not let my temper get the best of me like it did with Elena, telling myself that what's done is done.

She clings to the envelop in her hands, her manner growing nervous. "We never should have lied to you… and I never should have went behind your back to try and fix things. That wasn't my place, or your fathers, and I'm sorry."

I want to be mad at her, but for whatever reason, am finding it somewhat difficult. I let out a long sigh, attempting to regain rational thinking. "Honestly… I'm glad you didn't tell me," I finally admit. "Elena didn't want me to know and, like it or not, I have to respect that. Besides, Jeremy wouldn't have made it as long as he did if you hadn't helped so… I guess," I pause, trying to form the words, "thank you…. for what you did and for helping her."

She looks shocked, probably more so at my understanding of Elena than my sudden gratitude, but nonetheless, she smiles. "You're welcome."

We are both silent for a moment before she finally extends the letter to me. I stare at it, unable to take it from her hand.

"You know, I often wonder what my life would have been like if I had never married your father," she begins, studying my face. "I wonder about the different paths I could have taken, the different scenarios of where I'd have ended up if I had chosen differently…"

"And what do you come up with?"

She shakes her head and smiles. "It doesn't matter. The end result of everything is that I have you and your brother. Nothing else matters, and no other life could ever possibly compare to that."

I attempt a smile, but find it difficult. "Not helping."

"The point," she says, finally taking my hand and forcing the envelope into it, "is that, no matter which path you choose, you'll be making the right decision. Your life is only just beginning, Damon. And in the end, you're smart enough and strong enough, and more than capable enough to know that the person you choose will be the person that, ultimately, you just can't walk away from; someone who makes your heart race; someone you can build a life with and, someday, when the time comes, be able to look back on that life and know – without a shout of a doubt or even a moments worth of hesitation– that _that_ person is the one who made your life worth living for."

I am gripping tightly to the envelope as she suddenly releases my hand and steps around me. I watch as she moves to collect the photo album and then her purse on the dining room table.

I remain motionless in the living room as she makes her way towards the door, and it's only when she opens it and begins to leave that I stop her.

"Mom?" I say, unsure of the last time I've said those words without bitterness, sarcasm or resentment in my tone. "Did you ever love him? Dad, I mean?"

She lingers in the doorway, contemplating on my words. Finally, she leans her head against the door, much like Elena did just a few nights prior, and looks at me with more clarity than I've seen in her eyes in such a long time.

"In the beginning…. Sometimes in the middle…. A lot more there at the end. I think maybe it's possible… Elena had something to do with that."

We smile at each other for one brief moment, before she suddenly lets herself out and allows the door to close behind her. I am left to contemplate her words and stare mindlessly at the empty room, as the weight of Elena's words lingers in my hands. I'm not sure how it's possible for something so small to feel so heavy.

I lay it down on the coffee table and attempt to walk away. I make it all the way down the hall and towards the bedroom in the fight to forget about it... But something keeps pulling me back. Before I know it, I'm pacing, walking back and forth, to and from it, as the envelope silently beckons.

I attempt to ignore it by telling myself that nothing she says will change our path... except that... my constantly racing mind begins to argue, saying that maybe, it might.

Curiosity suddenly gets the best of me as I dwell on my mother's words and allow all doubt and confusion to dissipate. I don't want to hurt Rose… but I also want to know, without a doubt in my mind, that I'm choosing the right path.

I find myself once again picking it up and before I know it, tearing into it. I pull out the pages and instantly recognizing the handwriting that started it all.

There are several pages, and as I casually thumb through them, begin to realize it's not just one singular letter… but multiple letters, all dated in the top right hand corner, some going as far back as two years ago.

I quickly think back to my brief stay at the bed and breakfast on Ashley Avenue and recall the woman's words when she asked what Elena was writing.

" _A letter I will never send.'"_

Is this the letter? Are these _the_ Letters?

Without wasting another moment, I reach for the first one – instantly recognizing the date at the top as being the day following her disappearance - and begin to read:

' _Sometimes I think I dreamt it – the entire thing. At the end of the day when I'm surrounded by silence and can no longer hear the music, I think it all must have been a dream._

 _But maybe that's okay. It was a great dream, wasn't it?_

 _I'm sure that someone out there probably once wrote a sonnet about the beautiful tragedy that can be found in saying goodbye - How they allow for the beginning of something new? Or maybe how sometimes we have to set things free in order for them to return to us? Or possibly some bull-shitty notion about how the more it hurts to say, the more it meant you loved them…_

 _I don't know. Either way, I couldn't bear to go through it… I guess because, if I had to give in to at least one of the previously mentioned, shitty notions, I'd have to go with choice number 3._

 _I loved you so much – and it would have hurt like hell to say goodbye. That much I can admit._

 _But I won't waste this letter by explaining why I left or by asking for your forgiveness. You deserve much more than just a letter, and on the off, but semi hopeful chance that I ever get to see you again; I hope to be able to explain everything to you in person._

 _But for now, I want to talk about us in one of the only ways that I know how so, here it goes:_

 _Did you know it's been scientifically proven that one's heartbeat can mimic the beat of a song? It's true. We can literally become one with the music we listen to._

 _Do you remember that night last summer? I think it was in August. When I made you pull the car over on the side of the road so we could watch the last glow of the sunset as we listened to one of my favorite songs? I can still hear the words, "I lost my mind long ago, down that yellow brick road*," right before the cords of the guitar soar away to a completely magical place that makes me want to just literally forget the world and absorb the entire melody._

 _I felt it. Right then, in that moment, with you: My heart rhythmically falling into a harmonious place with you and that song. It was an enchanting moment - every last second, even the way you kissed me when it was all over._

 _I know it may not make much sense now, but saying goodbye was never going to be an option for me. I'm honestly not sure that it will ever be an option._

 _For, as long as my heart can remember that moment, it will forever remember the way it felt to be yours, and how it's never again going to feel that way with anyone else._

 _Maybe it's naïve of me to say that it was the moment my world stopped, but it came pretty close._

 _I know you may never forgive me, and I know that there's a significantly real possibility that you may never want to see me again, but… I just needed you to know._

 _I love you Damon, and I probably always will.'_

I read it again. And again. And then again.

The weight of her words and the weight of the memory fall heavy on me as I allow them to sink in. Before I know it, I am pulling out the next one, and then the next. I find myself in every room of the house, sometimes sitting, sometimes pacing, and sometimes lying down, as I read every word she never intended to send.

Some letters are filled with memories of us, much like the first. Others are filled with regrets and doubts... some with fear, some with hopefulness for the future, or faith that we may see each other again. And then others… others are just filled with heartbreak.

Though she never mentions Jeremy specifically, I know now what it was she was going through as she wrote them, and what it must have been like to try and capture the temporarily, fleeting moments of happiness. I know now what she is referring to when she says things like _'I'm trying to be stronger than I feel,'_ or when she talks about wanting to remember small seconds forever, or when she quotes poems of grief by Emily Dickenson.

When I finally reach the last letter, it's almost midnight. I am lying down on the couch, one arm behind my head, as I grip the final page with my other hand. I've been so immersed in devouring her words that I am somewhat hesitant to read the last page, knowing that nothing but silence will follow, and I'll just be left with more questions and only an undeniable need to know more.

I suddenly notice the date it was written. Unlike the others who's span extended over the course of the last two years, but seemed to suddenly stop upon reaching October, this one jumps ahead almost six months to… just four days ago.

I begin to read:

' _I should have called. Or, better yet, I should have just turned around._

 _It wasn't fair of me to say that to you. Not because I didn't mean it – I did. But because, it occurred to me only after I got home that… maybe that's not what you want._

 _It's not fair of me to assume that you still want someone like me. It's not fair of me to assume that our love still has a chance if you've moved on and found someone new who makes you happy._

 _It hurts. A lot._

 _And yeah, I'll admit, it even makes me terribly jealous. But… saying that I'll fight for you isn't fair if that's not what you want._

 _I want to fight for you, Damon. I want to fight to make things right and fight to win you back. I want to have the opportunity to tell you I'm sorry for as many times as you need to hear it. I want to apologize for never sending the letters, for never letting you in, but most importantly, for letting go of the most important thing I had ever been fortunate enough to find in my life._

 _But that's not fair to you, and I understand that. I won't do any of those things if that's not what you want..._

 _But on the off chance that, maybe it is…_

 _Will you meet me?_

 _Friday at midnight. Grand Central Station. I'll be the one at the top of the stairs, the one looking like a nervous wreck as she waits patiently and hopefully for the star-crossed love of her life to show up. The one praying to God that it's not too late._

 _But if he doesn't, she'll also understand._

 _She'll understand that the time for their love has finally and tragically ran out, and that it's only fair of her to let him go. I promise, I'll let you go if it's what you want. But… I also promise that, I never will again if it's what you don't._

 _I hope to see you there,  
Elena'_

I find myself looking at my watch and suddenly wondering what day it is.

Shit.

I jump up.

But then I sit back down.

My foot is rapidly tapping against the hardwood floor, my heart racing. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and link my hands together as I debate. The indicated time of 11:52 on my watch is suddenly burning into my left wrist.

I look at it again.

Shit.

I stand back up and begin to pace, nervously running a hand through my hair.

I can't go. I can't. There's no way. I wouldn't even make it in time.

I walk the hallway and pass by my office, but then suddenly, stop. The _records_.

They're practically screaming at me.

She needs to know I still have them… just in case she wants them back.

Yes. I have to go.

It's the right thing to do.

The next thing I know, I am flying out the door.

I am pressing the first floor button in the elevator like a crazy person, shifting my weight back and forth on my feet in an attempt to make it move faster.

When it opens, I am sprinting. I am out the door in the blink of an eye, ignoring the looks of confusion on Tom's face, as I run towards the street and shout, "Taxi!"

The wait for it to stop feels like an eternity. When it pulls to a steady stop, I notice that someone else is already in the backseat and I instantly feel my frustration building. I don't have time for this!

The cab driver opens his door and makes his way around to the trunk to help with luggage. Impatiently, I open the rear door, and wait for the passenger to exit, my heart racing with every passing second.

But when she steps out and into the light, I am taken aback.

My heart is no longer racing, but completely frozen in place, shock evident all over my face.

I am greeted to green eyes, shoulder length brown hair, a warm smile and an expression that proves she's nearly just as shocked to see me, as I am to see her.

"Rose?" I say, almost completely breathless. "What are you doing here?"

"Well I had wanted to surprise you," she smiles, suddenly throwing her arms around my neck. It takes me a few moments to realize that I'm not hugging her back, and I quickly make the necessary corrections.

"Well," I attempt, still struggling to breathe, "mission accomplished."

She pulls away. "What are you doing down here? Were you about to go somewhere?"

My head is suddenly spinning. "No," I shake my head like an idiot. "No, I was just, um, testing the time it takes to hale a New York City cab. They're slow as hell," I attempt a smile. The driver makes a disgruntled noise as he sits her luggage down at her feet, and extends his hand to me. I quickly pull out my wallet and pay him.

Rose watches me suspiciously. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I nod my head, attempting to breathe normally. "I just wasn't expecting you until next week, that's all"

"I know," she smiles, extending her hand to gently touch my cheek. "But I just couldn't stand to be away for another second longer. I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too," I say, responsively. She leans up to kiss me and wraps her arms around my neck.

"Damon, I'm so sorry about everything I said before I left. You were upset about your father, and I was being completely ridiculous and jealous and paranoid. I know you were just going through a lot, and what happened with your father's Will wasn't your fault."

I swallow, attempting to hide the guilt that seems to be radiating off of my skin.

"Are we okay?"

Now is the time. I have to tell her. I have to tell her _everything_.

"Good evening, Ms. Taylor! It's so great to have you home!" I look over my shoulder to see our doorman, Tom, coming towards us. I really, _really_ hate him. "Here, allow me to help you with your bags."

"Thank you, Tom," she smiles warmly at him, before turning back to me. "Shall we?"

She pulls my hand and attempts to lead me back inside, but I am still frozen. I turn back to watch as the cab pulls away, leaving me stranded, conflicted and feeling completely helpless as I realize I must abandon my mission.

I check my watch. 12:15.

The image of Elena waiting for me, _giving up_ on me… flashes across my mind.

"Damon," says Rose, stepping back towards me. "Are you okay?"

I guess this is the crossroad. I knew it was coming… I just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

"Rose," I say, my voice suddenly feeling weak and frail. "We need to talk."

* * *

I know, I know. I'm so sorry! :( I promise to update soon! Thanks for reading! xx

 **Songs for this chapter:  
** Yellow Brick Road – Angus and Julia Stone


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